


Dark Times

by treenahasthaal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Interrogation, Resistance, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 277,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treenahasthaal/pseuds/treenahasthaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after ANH Luke is shot down in enemy territory. The events that follow lead him, painfully, to his first meeting with Vader and beyond. A father/son fic although it might not seem like it at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Network Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing this series of tales/chapters since 2005, and I am confident that I will finish the story.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am only playing in George Lucas's sandbox. I make no profit, but I do have a lot of fun!

Dark Times

Network

Part One

                                                                                                               

"Five from above! Watch yourself, Wedge."

 

"I see them, Luke."

 

"Copy, Red Two," Luke Skywalker answered easily, though his heart was hammering with adrenaline. He pulled his X-Wing into a tight roll evading the enemy fire and returning his own on the TIE he was chasing. The Imperial burst into a brief ball of flame.

 

"Target's obscured," Narra announced over the com. "Shielding must be interfering with the scanners. We'll have to go below. Red Five, take Reds Two, Four and Seven. Stay here and watch our backs."

 

"Copy, Red Leader!" Luke watched as Narra and the others peeled away, heading planet side to take the target from the air.

 

"All fighters, on my lead," Narra's cool tones commanded

 

"Cut left, Red Five, three of them coming in point six," Wedge Antilles warned "Red Four where are you?"

 

"I'm hit!"

 

"Eject, Eject!" Luke looked wildly around, trying to see Red Four. The X-Wing exploded. "Ah, shit."

 

"Red Four's gone, Boss," Wedge told him. "More TIEs coming your way!"

 

"Got 'im!" Red Seven declared as he nailed Red Four's killer.

         

"I see it," Red Leader's voice from below. "Target acquired."

 

"Thanks!" Luke replied to Wedge's warning. "Break right!"

 

"Whoa! Target has been destroyed!" Narra exclaimed. "Heading your way Luke!"

 

"I copy, Red Leader! We have a swarm of TIEs up here! Watch yourselves!" he looped around, zigzagged in tight turns, evading enemy fire.

 

"Flight, break contact! We're finished here," Narra ordered, tightly.

 

"More fighters!" Wedge was beginning to sound a little panicked.

 

"We've stirred them up this time," Luke observed, smiling tightly. The mission objective had been met and the Imperial weapons development programme on Escaal was terminated.

 

"Break, Break...all fighters...”

 

"I need help here, I can't..."

 

"Red Six? Red Six call in!"

 

"She can't, Boss," Red Seven's voice was grim.

 

"Time to go, Red Flight," Narra told them.

 

"I'm with you, Red Leader."

 

"Luke! Two more closing in on you," Wedge cautioned.

 

"I can't see them. Where...”

 

"Coming in point...”

 

"I've got them...Might need a little help here, Red Two?" Luke asked.

 

"Need me to save your ass again, Red Five?"

 

"We've lost Red Seven!"

 

"Star destroyer!" Wedge gasped.

 

"Red Two, Red Five! Five more heading your way," Red Six warned.

 

Luke twisted in his seat, checked his scanners. He saw the five fighters closing in, laser cannon's opening up. His fighter rocked as his shields took a barrage. "Shit!" He pulled back, bringing the X-Wing into a steep climb. Behind him Artoo squealed. He looped around, bringing his own guns to life. "Wedge, we need to get clear for the jump!"

 

"I know! I know!" Wedge exclaimed, trying to cut a path through to Luke.

 

"Make the Jump, Red Flight!" Narra commanded.

 

"We're with you, Boss."

 

"On my mark."

 

There was a blast of light, the X-Wing rocked throwing Luke around in his chair, straining the straps holding him down. "Ah! I'm hit!" His eyes swept frantically over his instrumentation as Artoo screeched from behind.

 

"Luke?! Luke!"

 

Sparks flared from the control boards. "It's getting a little hot in here! Artoo see if you can't...”

 

"Bang out, Luke!" Wedge broke in.

 

"No, not here!"

 

"Eject, dammit! You've lost a foil!"

 

"I know!" Luke burst, angrily, feeling frenzied, fighting to gain control of his panicking feelings. Trying to think straight against the trouble he was in. "Not here! They'll pick me up... Artoo, see if you can get me some control back..."

 

"Luke, Flight's leaving. They don't know...”

 

"Go with them, Wedge. I'm heading down. I'll have a better chance on the surface." He was calmer, having come to his decision.

 

"I'll follow...”

 

"Negative, Red Two. Artoo, cut fuel to port engines. I don't want to explode when I hit the atmosphere."

 

"Luke, I..."

 

"Go home, Wedge. That's an order."

 

"Don't pull rank on me! Shit, they're cutting me off! Luke..."

 

"Make the jump, Wedge. Before they take us both."

 

There was hesitation and then: "Copy...Red Five... Good Luck."

 

"Yeah, you too. I need power to the shielding, Artoo. This is going to be rough."

 

The X-Wing pitched and rolled as it entered the outer atmosphere of the planet. Luke gritted his teeth, fighting to bring the X-wing under some sort of control, hoping the heat shielding would hold against the friction and that he wouldn't just burn up. The fighter shuddered as he brought it lower. Flames flared briefly from his port side then died, having no fuel with which to burn. The fighter shook in the sheering winds and metal screamed as pieces were torn loose.

 

"Artoo! We need to stabilise the..." Flames flashed from the controls before him and he drew his hands away. "Ah, I can't hold her!"

 

The little droid shrieked as the Wing went into free fall, tumbling toward the planet's surface.

 

"Artoo...I..." He was bucked about, thrown around the acceleration chair. Determined not to let panic get the better of him, he kept his gaze firmly within the cockpit, knowing that his senses would be lost to the twisting view beyond. "Cut power from the starboard engine, see if we can slow up this spin."

 

 More flares erupted from the control panel, an alarm klaxxoned. "Artoo! Oxygen leak! Eject. Eject!"

 

Luke was aware of the canopy lifting away, aware of a tremendous force upon his body as he was blasted upwards and away from the X-Wing which continued its downward plunge without him. Still strapped into his chair, with his head down and eyes closed behind his helmet visor, Luke did not see Artoo, still in the droid pod, eject from the fighter seconds after him.

 

The straps holding Luke into his seat automatically released him and the chair fell away as his parachute canopy opened. He opened his eyes. Far below him, his X-Wing exploded, taking with it the remaining proton torpedoes. The force of the detonations tore the ship apart and threw out shards of fuselage along with brief flames and searing heat. Hot air swept past him, catching his canopy and trailing him along and Luke was grateful he had not been nearer as the ship blew - he would have been sliced apart by shrapnel.

         

He glanced around, saw another parachute in the distance and, with some relief, knew Artoo was safe. Due to the time lapse of the ejection sequence, though, they would be separated by several kilometres. He looked down at the terrain below him. From his lofty position, it looked like moor land. Undulating grassy hills, punctuated by sparse rocks, pools of water and very little else apart from small burning pieces of X-Wing. There were no trees, no obvious hiding places, and it stretched for as far as he could see.

 

"Shit," he cursed. The landscape gave very little scope for being able to hide.

 

Then, over the noise of the wind blowing around him and the rustle of his canopy, he was aware of another sound. It was growing louder, coming from behind, a keen sharp sound that sliced through the air surrounding him. He twisted around in his harness, trying to see as the TIE flew past him, pulling him into its slipstream. Terrified that his canopy would collapse, he held on tightly to the straps as he was tossed around. The canopy held, but the TIE was banking back around, and Luke was acutely aware of his vulnerability. He groped at his gun belt, caught hold of his blaster and brought it up, opening fire on the approaching fighter, knowing a handgun was poor protection against the TIE's cannons.

 

It passed him again without firing a shot. Luke glanced down, trying to judge his distance to the ground. Too far, still too far to go and the Imperial was coming back!

 

"Shit!" Luke swore again, voicing his frustration, his fear. It wasn't firing on him, because they wanted him alive! It was circling, giving co-ordinates, keeping him in sight. "Shit!"

 

He placed his gun back in its holster as an idea occurred to him. It was crazy, insane, but it might be his only chance of getting a head start on the troopers who were probably already on their way to pick him up. He hit the release mechanism on his harness and the main chute was disconnected. Luke dropped as his canopy flapped away.

 

He fell, spinning toward the ground, air rushing past him, pulling at his flight suit as he covered the distance to the ground in a fraction of the time. With effort he brought his hand up, caught the cord for his reserve chute and pulled. His body was snapped backward as the chute instantly dragged him up slowing his descent. He yelled aloud as a keen pain ran spasms through his back. Gulping in air, fighting the hurt, he glanced around looking for the TIE and, saw it screaming toward him. Just when he expected to be torn apart by cannon fire it swooped upwards and away, and he was left with quiet once more.

 

He hit the ground feet first, crying out as pain jarred through his body. He fell, rolled, getting entangled in the chutes lines and came to rest lying face up in the grass. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the TIE passing overhead, dark against the blue.

 

 

He wasn't sure what woke him. It might have been the soft breeze which tickled, coolly across his face as the temperature dipped with the setting sun. Or it may have been the pain finally biting through the darkness of his unconsciousness bringing him back to sharp focus. He tried to sit up, and was rewarded by a lancing pain across his chest, grinding upwards to his left shoulder. He lay back down and the pain subsided a little. He'd burst some ribs, he was sure, and from the feel of it, dislocated his shoulder. There was also a discomfort from his back, his hips hurt, and his legs tingled strangely, but his left ankle seemed to burn. However, he couldn't lie here and just let them come for him. If he didn't get up and move then he would be another Rebel statistic spending a short spell in an Imperial cell, before a quick execution. The whole idea of coming planet side in the first place had been to evade capture.

 

He rolled onto his right side, stifling his suffering, swallowing the pain, and managed to sit up. He was sure his hip was merely bruised, his back jolted by banging out and landing. His left ankle though, throbbed with heat and hurt and even though it was encased within his boot, he could see it was angled wrong. He would be unable to walk on it, and he had nothing that he could use as a makeshift crutch.

 

He worked himself carefully out of the snarl of chute lines, having to rest every now and then and let the pain subside enough from him to continue. He unbuckled his helmet, drew it off, and heaved in a steadying breath as he paused to take stock of his situation, trying to think, trying to remain calm and not give in to the panic nibbling at his frayed nerves. He had to get the harness and flight suit off. There would be no hiding it against this terrain, and if he stayed in it there would be no hiding him. Cursing the Rebel who decided orange should be the colour they flew in, he decided that it would be best to strip to his fatigues underneath. Carefully, he undid the harness and drew it off, hissing in pain at the movement. "You can do this, Luke," he told himself, tightly.

 

He unbuckled his gun belt, let it drop and gingerly unzipped the flight suit, struggling to get it off his shoulders. His shoulder ground sharply and, crying out, he fell back, panting, frustrated. He had no way of telling how long he had been there, no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious to start with, or how far away the Imps were. He couldn't waste any more time. He glanced around taking in the features of the land. There was a rocky outcropping some metres away silhouetted against the darkening sky. It might afford him some hiding place or shelter.

Holding his left arm close to his body and clutching the gun belt, which held his blaster and lightsaber, he began to crawl from his landing site using his right arm and leg to pull and push.

 

He hadn't gotten far when he heard the first sounds of approaching vehicles echo over the moor.

 

"Shit..." he breathed, adrenaline blasting through him as he tried to crawl faster; tried to ignore the flaring pain, the further damage he may be doing to himself; simply trying to focus on the rocks ahead and not on the futility of his actions.

 

Luke reached the boulders as the first vehicle appeared behind him, over the nearest rise, headlights and searchlights strafing the area and finally settling on the parachute and harness. He crawled slowly around the rocks to the opposite side, pulled himself into a sitting position and drew his blaster. The stone was cool and hard against his back, unyielding. He gripped the gun tightly knowing he was unlikely to be able to take on all the soldiers he now heard spilling out of the troop carrier on the far side of the rocks. He was sore, and tired and utterly desperate. He stiffened as he heard boots scrapping on rock behind and above him. He heard the soft click of a safety being disengaged.

 

"Throw your weapon away, scum!"

 

Luke hesitated momentarily. Another troop carrier was approaching from in front of him. Its lights threw him harshly into relief against the grey rocks.

 

"Now!"

 

Luke threw his gun to the side, watching it settle impotently into the grass. He pulled his lightsaber from his belt, placed it at his back, and worked it under the lip of the rock. Hoping from where he stood the Imperial couldn't see his movements. They could have his blaster, but not his saber. He may never get it back, but at least they couldn't use it to identify him.

 

"Stand and walk forward, away from the rocks."

 

"I can't," Luke replied softly, as more soldiers poured into the area, running toward him. "I'm injured."

 

The stormtrooper behind him stepped down and came around the rocks, keeping his blaster aimed at his prisoner. Luke held up his right hand, keeping his left close to his body minimising the pain to his shoulder and ribs. The soldier motioned his blaster upwards. "Raise both hands."

 

"I can't," he said again. He had begun to shiver uncontrollably, and knew that shock was creeping in.

 

The trooper bent down abruptly, grabbed Luke by his flight suit and dragged him up. "You'll do as I say, you piece of trash!"

 

He hauled Luke toward the waiting troop carrier, ignoring his protests, and threw him against the vehicle's bodywork. Luke fell, and was pulled upright once more. Another soldier stepped in and held him as the flight suit was stripped from his shoulders, pulled down his body as far as they could get it and his fatigues roughly searched. They found nothing on him.

 

The soldier produced a pair of durasteel binders; wrist cuffs joined together by a short, but solid, metal bar. "On your knees."

 

Luke obeyed, guided a little more gently by the second trooper, but as his hands were firmly fastened behind his back he retched, gagging dryly, feeling cool sweat run from his forehead. He almost passed out.

 

A grey uniformed officer approached, followed by another stormtrooper. He nodded to the trooper by Luke's side. "Stand him up!" he ordered sharply.

 

Luke moaned as he was pulled to his feet. With the aid of the trooper by his side he balanced on one foot, but he was light-headed, sick and wished they would make up their minds about where they wanted him. He stared down at his boots, frowning at the blood on the orange of his left leg just above his boot, barely aware of the Imperial officer speaking.

 

"The insignia on your flight suit identifies you as a Lieutenant-Commander with the Rebel Alliance," the officer told him, briskly. "You are under arrest and will be held during His Majesty's pleasure for questioning. As a Rebel, you have no rights to legal representation, no rights to a trial..." He smiled coldly, "And no rights with regards to your treatment while being held. Am I understood?"

 

Luke's legs buckled from under him and he would have fallen had the trooper not kept a hold of him.

 

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," the officer laughed. He turned to the first trooper. "Take him in."

 

"Yes, sir!" the soldier snapped. He took a grip of Luke's arm and he was carried between the two soldiers into the transport and dumped onto a bench. He yelled as pain stabbed through his lower back. One of the troopers beside him laughed. The vehicle filled with more infantry, lined on either side of the cab, and as the officer took his seat it began to move.

 

Luke kept his head down, staring at the floor, focused on the metal grating to keep from blacking out. Blood from his ankle seeped through his boot fastenings. The carrier lurched over the terrain and Luke was thrown forward, the trooper by his side catching him before he could fall.

 

"Thank you," Luke acknowledged, gratefully, knowing that if he had hit the floor he would not have been in any position to lift himself back up, and he had no wish to provide further entertainment for these troopers.

 

"Shut it, scum!" the soldier opposite him growled, and Luke was sure it was the one who had found him.

 

It was then that the Imperial by his side, the one who had helped him, raised his blaster and shot the officer. The soldier slumped wordlessly to the deck. There were more rapid shots, loud and bright in the small cab and four more soldiers fell to the floor. Luke stared in astonishment at the dead men. Still in shock from his injuries and his capture, he was unable to comprehend what was happening. He watched the remaining troopers drag the bodies to the back of the carrier. Then he then glanced at the infantryman beside him.

 

"Welcome to the Network, Lieutenant-Commander."

 

He didn't understand, too frightened, too sore, his body shaking violently. What was happening was slow and surreal like a dream, like he was watching from far away and apart from it. A soldier near him removed his helmet, revealing a shock of red hair, and reached into a locker above him and took out a bag. Another trooper, the one who had spoken to him, was freeing the binders from his wrists and asking a question.

 

"What?" Luke managed to say. He massaged his wrists. Even after only a few moments the restraints had chafed his skin.

 

"Where are you injured?" the man repeated.

 

"I...I'm not... Uh...my ankle, I think. Ribs....and my shoulder..." Luke studied the white of the helmet, the black of the eyes, trying to assimilate events. As he spoke some clarity began to form in his mind. "Who are you?"

 

"Here," the red headed soldier said, squatting down. "Let me see this ankle." He withdrew a pair of cutters from the bag and lifted Luke's leg. "I'm going to cut the boot off. It'll hurt," he warned.

 

"S'okay," Luke told him, immediately bracing himself, as the man began to cut the bloodied footwear. He looked back to the soldier beside him, looking for an answer to his question.

         

"We're the Network," he was told, again.

 

"Resistance?" Luke asked, hopefully, recalling the mission briefing and that the information passed to Alliance Intelligence came from Resistance operatives. Then he had to bite back a cry of pain as the boot was slipped off his foot, followed by his flight suit. His sock, crimson with blood, was also removed and the cuffs of his pants rolled up over the wound. Luke glanced away, feeling nauseous, faint. The tingle in his legs had become stronger, but his ankle didn't feel quite as sore now thathis boot was off.

"Resistance?" he repeated hoarsely, trying to keep his attention focused away from the ministrations of the medic.

 

A nod was his reply.

 

Luke grimaced, heaved in a breath, as the medic finished cleaning the wound. "How did you know where to find me?"

 

"We listened into the battle transmissions," the man informed him. "Are you going to be sick?" he asked, a little anxiously. Luke shook his head unconvincingly, and the soldier continued answering his question. "We have an operative in communications who relayed us your position. We mobilised with the rest of the squads and made sure we were the closest to you. Unfortunately we picked up a few uninvited guests for the journey back."

 

He nodded, indicating the dead.               

 

Luke paused as he considered the man's words. "But, how could you? Unless... You're Imperials?!" He was surprised, incredulous, a little confused and still sick.

 

There was laughter from the soldiers around him. Another stood up and started to remove his armour, revealing civilian clothes underneath.

 

"Some of us have positions in the military, yes. But most are natives who take exception to the Imperial presence."

 

"You?"

 

There was a smile in the reply. "That would be telling."

 

The medic looked up. "Bleeding's stopped. I'll field dress this for you just now. We'll have a doc check you out at the safe house."

 

"Thanks," Luke offered as the vehicle began to slow. Relieved, overwhelmed at the turn of events, he allowed a smile to curl his lips.

 

A tinny voice sounded over the tannoy. "We're nearly there. No pursuit and scanners show no other activity, but it won't stay that way for long."

 

The trooper beside him gestured to the tall, slim and dark headed man now fully dressed in civilian clothes. His face was full, rounded and his hazel eyes danced in the artificial lights of the carrier. "This is Taln. He'll take you to the safe house and stay with you. Follow his directions and you'll be safe enough."

 

"I'm finished here," the medic announced standing. "The doc'll fix your other ills. Just keep your arm up, like this," he said strapping Luke's limb with a make shift sling. "That'll lessen the strain."

 

"Pain killers?" Luke asked, wondering how he was going to be able move at all. His now supported and strapped up ankle felt a little better, but his shoulder and ribs were a constant ache punctuated by lancing pain whenever he moved. His lower back didn't feel much healthier.

 

"Sorry, kid. Those come from the doc," he was told with a smile.

 

"Come on," Taln instructed him, helping him up and placing his left arm around Luke's waist. Luke placed his right arm across the man's shoulder, using him as support.

 

The hatch opened and was Luke carried out into the night. They were in a suburban street, the dark softened by lights from windows of homes and by the glow of a huge fire somewhere to the west. Muted alarms klaxxoned in the distance.

 

"The weapons plant?" Luke asked as they moved off.

 

"Yeah, you hit it pretty hard. Knocked out the research lab, ignited the explosives warehouse. You have a lot of people pissed at you. You're lucky we found you first."

 

Taln glanced around nervously. "We need get off this street. Patrols will be increased when you don't arrive at the prison and they realise what's happened. This way."

 

Taln lead him down a small alley to a large town house. There was a side door slightly ajar which Taln pushed open with his hips and, with effort, he helped Luke down a steep set of stairs. Going through another door, they entered a small dark, stone corridor. Taln produced a small flashlight shining it at the floor, which sloped down as they walked.

 

"Okay?" Taln asked.

 

"Any... other choice?" Luke gasped, clinging tightly to the man's jacket. He was breathing heavy with exertion and pain.

 

"No."

 

They turned a corner, walking on and down. More stairs, steep and narrow. If Luke had been fit enough he would have marvelled at the number of twists and turns they took, the steps they went down, then up, the contrast of the tunnels' walls, roughly cut stone, ancient brick work, packed dirt. The whole place smelled musty and dry.

 

"Where... are we?"

 

"Under the city."

 

More turns, then Luke found himself being carried through another doorway and into a warm hall. A Twi'lek female appeared from another entrance and beckoned them over then turned away assuming they would follow. Luke found himself being manoeuvred down yet another flight of stairs.

 

The female turned. "In here."

 

The room they entered was small and sparse, furnished only by washing facilities, a straight-backed chair, a small bureau and a cot - which Luke thought looked incredibly inviting. The adrenaline caused by the last few hours seemed to be wearing off and he was left feeling unbelievably tired and intensely sore. He wished to do nothing more than to lie down and sleep. Taln sat him on the cot then turned to the woman. "Where's the doc?"

 

"He'll be here when he can," she told him, eyeing Luke with some suspicion. Luke met her gaze. She was middle aged, rotund, and dressed in a loose fitting dress and apron, her tentacles hanging over her shoulders. "There are a lot of casualties at the factory. He's needed elsewhere."

She turned to the other man. "I don't like this, Taln. Not here. The master is in residence."

 

"Last place they'll look for him then. That's why we chose it," Taln informed her. "It's only for a few days."

 

"By the looks of him it'll be more than a few days! And all our lives should he be found."

 

Luke groaned, leaning back against the wall, head throbbing, body aching. "Look, you owe me nothing. I know. I don't want to be any trouble. Just let... me sleep and then I'll leave."

 

"Ah-uh," was the laughed reply. "And where," she asked as she helped Luke turn and lie down. His head sank, thankfully, into the pillow, "... would you go, young man? And how would you get there?" She didn't wait for a reply. "Like it or not you _are_ trouble."

 

Luke closed his eyes with relief, then opened them with a start. "Artoo!"

 

"Artoo?" Taln questioned, frowning.

 

Luke struggled to sit back up, but the woman placed her hand lightly on his chest. "No, you don't."

 

"My droid," he explained concerned, but exhausted. "He's still out there... I think. I hope. If the Empire gets a hold of him..."

 

"Droids don't concern us, Lieutenant-Commander," Taln told him. "Snatching you from the Imps was risky enough with out going after a droid."

 

"No," Luke protested, tiredly. The cot was feeling comfortable. His injuries thrummed, throbbing, telling him to lie still. But this was Artoo, he couldn't leave the little droid to the Imperials. "You don't understand. He knows so much about the Alliance. I have to get him back."

 

Taln blew a sigh, exchanging a glance with the Twi'lek. "I'll make some enquiries if I can. I'm not making any promises, and no-one," he emphasised, "is going back out that way to check. There'll be troopers all over place looking through the remains of your ship."

 

It was enough for now. Luke knew he could not ask for any more from these people; they had already risked their lives to rescue and hide him. Besides, he told himself, Artoo was independent, resilient, and more than likely in better shape than he was. "Thank you," he whispered, finally closing his eyes, succumbing to the fatigue of his body, craving sleep despite his pain. He was unconscious almost immediately.

 

The female turned to Taln, whispering fiercely, "This is idiotic! Smuggling out dissidents, hiding our own operatives, passing on information to the Alliance is dangerous enough. But this..." She gestured at the form on the bed. "How do we get him off world? The ports will be closed, the shipping lanes shut down. Every home in the city will be searched!"

 

"Isla," Taln spoke gently, softly. He was tired and didn't want to argue. "You're saying we should have left him to them? The boy's an officer, he may know who it was that passed the information to the Alliance about the plant's activities. If he cracked under pressure and told them, it would lead them closer to us all. You know Dade! He'll do whatever it takes to protect the Network. So we protect the boy, to protect the Network."

 

Isla moved toward the door, brushing her hand down her left tentacle in an anxious manner. "So now he knows more about the Network. Smart thinking! A blaster bolt to the head would have protected the Network better than this!"

 

"You don't mean that."

 

"No, probably not," she wilted some and shrugged, her anger waning, but her fear remained. "But with the General home, this just seems like madness." She shook her head. "I'll bring the Doctor down when he arrives." The door closed behind her.

 

Taln sat on the chair, watching Luke, waiting for the doctor.

 ooOOoo

 

Artoo Detoo had shut down at the first sounds of approaching vehicles. He remained shut down as stormtroopers freed him from the droid socket of the X-Wing, and loaded him into a transporter. He stayed quiet and unresponsive during the journey, and while he was carried and dumped at a tech station. All verbal commands to reactivate were ignored, and when the droid technician working on him hooked him up to the main computer and attempted a re-boot, Artoo steadfastly remained silent and inactive.         

 

"Rebel, junk," the technician swore, slapping his hand on the blue dome in frustration. "This may take a while."

 ooOOoo

 

The sound of soft rapping penetrated Luke's restless slumber. He had initially fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted and weary. However, the room had grown uncomfortably warm, breathing had become an effort as his ribs objected sharply to each intake of air. The pain from his back had become excruciating, sharp and piercing when he tried to move, and the tingle in his legs had become incessant and severe pins and needles. His rest had become unsettling brief snatches of disturbing dreams, punctuated by longer periods of wakened discomfort. Taln had stayed with him, appearing each time he woke to explain that the medic wouldn't be long, that he'd been held up at the munitions plant.

 

Taln opened the door and, at last, the medic entered. He was dishevelled and dirty, his dark uniform stained and dusty. His face looked weary and bleak.

 

"Bad night?" Taln asked, helping him through with his med-kit.

 

"And some," he answered, drawing a pack off his back and placing it on the floor beside the cot. "I couldn't get away, there were so many casualties. The Rebels did some damage this time and we lost some good people tonight."

 

Luke opened his eyes and turned his head toward the two, feeling a little confused at first. Then understanding trickled in as he remembered being told some of the Resistance were actually Imperial personnel. "I'm sorry for your losses," he said, his voice little more than a whisper, tight with distress.

 

"We all know the risks we take doing this, Lieutenant-Commander," Taln answered. "As I'm sure you understand the risks you take when flying your missions."

 

"Luke," Luke told him.

 

"What?"

 

"My name's Luke S..."

 

"No!" Taln barked quickly, clearly unhappy at even knowing the Rebel's first name. "No names. Only ranks or aliases."

 

Luke flinched at his mistake. "Sorry," he managed again through a dry throat.

 

"Well, Luke," the doctor interrupted throwing Taln a sharp look. "Now we have something to call you, let's take a look at you." He sat on the bed beside Luke and drew the blanket off. "How are you feeling?"

 

Luke smiled at the absurdity of the question. "Lousy," he informed him.

 

Luke allowed the medic to check him over, grimacing at having to move, grunting as the doctor and Taln undressed him.

 

"I'll be able to give you a painkiller once I know what we're dealing with," he explained to Luke. "I don't want to mask any symptoms. Does this hurt?" he questioned, pressing firmly on Luke's abdomen.

 

"No," Luke told him, watching with interest as the doctor drew a small hand held scanner from the pack and ran it over his body. "But my back hurts like hell."

 

"Did you eject from your fighter?" The scanner was passed over his back. The man frowned and ran it over again.

 

Luke nodded. "Yeah, seemed like a good idea at the time." A lot of what he had decided before and after ejecting had seemed like good ideas at the time, now he wasn't so sure.

 

"No doubt it saved your life, but you have some compression damage to your lower spine. How are your legs?"

 

"Pins and needles. Won't stop."

 

"Arms?"

 

"Not so bad. Is this serious?"

 

"It's mild, you'd be totally paralysed if it wasn't. But, it's serious enough," he turned to Taln. "Tell Dade he'll be here for a while. He's got fractures to his ribs, and left fibula, and a dislocated shoulder. A bit of a temperature, lots of bruising. But it's his back that worries me most."

 

"How long?" Taln wanted to know.

 

"I can pop the shoulder back in easily enough, cement the fractures, bacta cast for the ankle, give them and the surrounding tissue time to heal. I'd say two, three weeks. His back.... Well, there's no fracture of the vertebrae but tissue damage is bad and the swelling is pressing on the spine."

 

He looked at Luke, explaining. "That's what's causing the pins and needles. I can give you anti-inflammatories to take the swelling down, a brace to support you, but healing so you can walk without pain and stiffness will take several weeks."

 

"How long?" Taln repeated.

 

"Eight weeks, maybe more. Probably more."

 

Luke groaned, closed his eyes. Too long. The Alliance would regard him as dead, or captured. And considering their almost nomadic existence at times as they moved from base to base, trying to keep one jump ahead of the Empire, getting back to his own squad, his own friends could prove difficult if the Alliance had decided to relocate.

 

"I have to contact Alliance Command, let them know I'm here."

 

Taln shook his head. "There's no chance of that just now. All communications off planet will be intercepted. We'll just have to weather the storm until the fuss dies down."

 

The Medic began sorting through the equipment he had brought with him. "I'll have to requisition a brace for you, but I can treat the fractures just now, and start you on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory." He lifted a hypodermic, and filled it with a honey coloured fluid. "Sedative," he told Luke. "Knock you out for a bit while I work."

 

"I'll have to update Dade," Taln said at the doctor's back. "The next course of action is up to him."

 

"When's your next contact with him?"

 

"Not for a few days," Taln informed him. "We need to let the heat die down, lay low. Emergency contact only until then."

 

"Ready for this?" the physician asked Luke, holding the syringe near the pilot's left hand.

 

Luke nodded, smiling thinly, gratefully, relieved to be offered something for his pain at last. He settled his head back into the pillow as he felt the liquid slide into the veins on the back of his hand. A coolness travelled to his wrist and then there was a blissful nothing...

 

 ooOOoo

 

"We've found the troop carrier, Sir," the young, nervous Captain reported.

 

"And?" General Mahkren barked from behind his desk. He was a large man, tall and stout, grey headed, heavily bearded and short in temper. The Resistance on Escaal had been a thorn in the side of his predecessor, and after failing to catch a particularly difficult dissident during the uprising almost three years previously, he had been replaced by Mahkren.

 

The General's mandate was simple; root out the Resistance and end its communication with the Alliance. And root out he did; ruthlessly rounding up sympathisers and their families. He brought in the best Interrogation Specialist in the sector and mass executions ensued as confession followed confession. The Resistance quietened down with only sporadic life signs as patrols were ambushed, or suspected Alliance sympathisers disappeared before they could be arrested.

 

Until now.

 

The Weapons Development and Production Programme he had brought to Escaal was burning. Hundreds of Imperial personnel were dead, dying or maimed, some of them close friends. One of the perpetrators of the outrage had been apprehended and then lost before he could face the consequences of his actions. And Central Imperial Command would be asking some difficult questions once word reached them. The Resistance had raised its profile once more and fed information to the Alliance - that fact alone mocked him as only his own staff could have leaked information about the weapons plant to the Rebels, only his own staff could have rescued the downed pilot.

 

Yes, the Resistance had been quiet - quietly working its way into the rank and file of his own men. His mood darkened, and he raised his eyes to the nervous officer before him. "And?" he repeated, snapping the word.

 

"Five dead, Sir. One Officer, four troopers." He seemed to brighten as he remembered something. "We have the Rebel's droid, the technicians are working on it now to retrieve any information it may hold in its memory..." He trailed off.

 

"And why is Colonel Hume not telling me this himself?"

 

"He's co-ordinating the search and rescue effort at the munitions..."

 

"And what of the search and arrest effort of the rebel pilot, of the Resistance operatives?" Mahkren snarled, "Who is co-ordinating that?"

 

"Well, the Colonel..."

 

"Is an idiot!" The General sat back in his chair and studied the young man before him, noting the anxiousness, but also seeing determination and conviction. Noting the General's interest, the Captain straightened and set his jaw.

 

"Tell me, Captain Ayrn," Mahkren started again. "Where do you see yourself heading within the Empire."

 

"If I may speak candidly, sir?"

 

The General spread his hands, palm open. "Of course."

 

"In your chair, Sir."

 

"Really?" Mahkren leaned forward, eyes narrow. "Ambition is a worthy thing to have, goals and aims important. But, you have to make sacrifices and difficult decisions, you have to take actions and give orders you personally find hard to stomach. You would be directly responsible for many deaths."

 

He paused to let his words sink in. "Do you believe in your Empire enough for that type of command?"

 

"I do, Sir."

 

The General smiled, teeth yellow and feral among the beard. "Well then, let us test this ambition of yours, Major Ayrn," he stressed the promotion. "You will take direct responsibility for the arrest of the rebel pilot and his Resistance rescuers."

 

The surprise, the delight and pride which swamped him at his sudden promotion was immediately dashed, and Ayrn swallowed uneasily, fearfully, understanding what failure would signify for him, understanding that the Resistance had several hours head start and already he was regretting his bold statement to the General. He cleared his throat. "Any means, sir?"

 

"Of course, Major. And what ever resources you require will be at your disposal. But take him alive, I want an example made of him."

 

"Yes, Sir, and thank you, Sir," Ayrn saluted, turned smartly on his heels and left the room, his body's calm exterior neatly hiding his sickening dismay at his orders, but nestling among that was a seed of excitement, a thrill of anticipation. Here was his chance to prove himself, to set himself apart and become noticed by the higher echelons of the Empire. Instead of fearing this duty, instead of dwelling on the "what ifs" of failure, he was going to grasp this opportunity to advance and no-one, especially the Rebel scum he would be searching for, would halt that progression.

 

By the time he had entered the elevator to descend to the incident rooms he had formulated the immediate actions he would have to take, and decided on which officers he could draft to his command. He smiled. He would personally alert the prison to be ready to received his "guests."

 ooOOoo

         

He sat with his back to the room, staring out of the window at the rain beating on the ground of the street beyond, at the roadblock, staffed by stormtroopers on the intersection, at the lines of speeders waiting to pass through. Then he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and massaged the bridge of his nose. The backlash had started almost immediately and now, several days on, it continued with no sign of abating; Imperial soldiers were clearing and searching huge areas of the city and surrounding suburbs. Homes and property had been destroyed. The spaceports were closed all over the planet, all craft, apart from authorised transports, were grounded. There were roadblocks, and random checks. The prisons were filling up with those who protested, or those whom the Empire considered suspects; including many survivors of the attack on the munitions plant. There had been fatalities.

 

"How many?" he asked of the man behind him.

 

"Doc says eight, probably more," Taln answered. He was seated at a dining table, a glass of rich red wine set before him on the polished surface. The room was in shadow, the only light trickling in from the window Dade now sat at. It had been sunny when Taln arrived, the light streaming through the window and sparkling off the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. But, as Taln had begun updating his superior on current events, the sun had faded behind clouds, and the sky had darkened with rain, almost as though the weather was responding to the feelings of the men in the room.      

 

"Eight weeks," Dade responded with concern. "We've never hidden anyone more than three, and never under these circumstances. How many dead?"

 

"Early estimates say thirty."

 

Dade abruptly turned around, his fingers tapping a console beside the window.

 

The room suddenly brightened and Taln had to blink quickly to adjust his vision. He lifted the wine glass and sipped, watching Dade with hooded eyes as the man crossed the room to the table, lifted the wine bottle and poured himself another drink.

 

His superior looked tired, worn. His dark eyes heavy, his face drawn and pale, and a spattering of grey highlighted his brown hair. "You're thinking we shouldn't have helped the Rebel?"

 

Dade lifted his head, saw Taln's searching gaze. "No, not at all," he smiled, briefly. "It was the right thing to do at the time. They were wanting a captive, we needed to deprive them of him."

 

"And Isla's suggestion?"

 

Dade looked quizzically at him. "And that was?"

 

"A blaster bolt to the head."

 

Dade laughed. "Straight to the point as always." He joined Taln at the table. "And what do you think, Taln. Did we do the right thing?"

 

Taln hesitated, took another sip of wine before answering. "Are you talking about the boy? Or about giving the Alliance the information about the weapons development programme?"

 

Dade considered the wine in his glass. "Both."

 

"The munitions production had to stop, the development programme terminated - you said it yourself," Taln reminded him. "The boy? Well, as you say we always have to consider the bigger picture."

 

Dade nodded, smiling again. "A blaster bolt to the head, yes?"

 

"No, protect the Rebels to protect the Network," Taln repeated Dade's words from several days before the attack, when the possibility of pilots being shot down was discussed with Alliance command. "We all agreed, gave the Alliance our word."

 

"Yes, but... eight weeks... with no open lines of escape. And Mahkren taking his revenge on the general population for our actions." Dade returned to his chair by the window. It was still raining. "We'll have to move him out of the city."

 

Taln shook his head. "Doc says we can't, just yet. We'd risk paralysing him. Besides all escape routes out are blocked just now. Even the tunnels don't extend that far."

 

Dade drained his glass. The Network existed for three reasons; to help and assist political opponents and dissidents, to pass on intelligence to the Rebel Alliance and to disrupt and annoy the Imperial presence on Escaal. Dade had joined them three years previously and as section commanders of the underground escaped to the Alliance, or were regretfully captured or killed, Dade had swiftly moved up the ranks. He now commanded Escaal's entire Resistance operations. It had taken many months of quiet subterfuge, on the part of many operatives, to plan the munitions plant attack with the Alliance, and it would appear that the mandate of "disrupt and annoy" had been carried out to the letter.

 

 

The disappearance of the Alliance pilot would now add to that annoyance. However, they were now paying a high price for their activities.

 

"Okay," he said again breaking the moment’s silence. "He stays where he is, for now. They won't think of searching there for a while. We'll move him later when things are quieter."

 

“He mentioned an Artoo unit which ejected with him and..."

 

Dade nodded. "I know. Droid techs have it. It's locked down solid just now. Out of our hands."

 

"He says it contains information about the Alliance."

 

"I'm not risking men's lives for a droid, no matter what it contains," Dade said with some finality. "But, for what it's worth they can't get anything out of it. Can't even reactivate it.

 

"And what of our operations?" Taln wanted to know.

 

"Cease immediately. Stand everyone down. Get word out to the populace, that no one resists, no one protests. There have been enough deaths. When they come looking, let them in." He checked his chronometer. "I'm due on duty."

 

"Busy?"

 

"Mahkren has promoted Ayrn to Major."

 

"Ayrn?" Taln frowned, picturing the young officer. "That snivelling tree-myre!" His face darkened. "He's given him the task of searching for us?"

 

Dade nodded. "And he's tackling his order's with his usual zeal. Kissing Mahkren's ass."

 

"So, you're busy." It was a statement, no longer a question. "Ayrn's like a Ilothillian sabre dog with a bone. He won't give up until he has every bit of marrow."

 

Dade stood, straightened his dark tunic, with a sharp tug and adjusted his rank insignia. He glanced out of the window. "My speeder's here."

 

"I'll contact you soon, keep you informed of the Rebel's condition."

 

Dade paused at the door of the room. "You know, Taln... " he stopped, looked at the floor, regret colouring his words. "Despite our agreement with the Alliance, if Ayrn doesn't scale things down, we may have to carry out Isla's suggestion." He glanced back up. "Do you think you could do it?"

 

"Kill the boy?" Taln's eyes narrowed as he considered Dade's words, thinking of the young man who had been entrusted to him. It was true he had not yet formed a definite impression of the youth. That he showed courage was obvious, that he was able to show concern and regret for others was admirable given his own condition. That Taln knew his name - even just a first name made someone a person - was unfortunate. And he was young.

 

However, Taln also recognised the difficulties the Network now faced after rescuing him, understood the dynamics of the personality of the man assigned the task to hunt for them. This time, the Network had, perhaps, underestimated the Empire's response. The Rebel was only one man, the city held millions of families all of whom could suffer should Ayrn and Mahkren not find their prize.

 

He nodded slowly in reply to Dade, and despite their promise to the Rebel Alliance. "Yes."

 

Taln sat finishing his wine for several minutes after Dade left the apartment. Then he too made his way from the building, down a flight of stairs to a door at the back of the building near the rear entrance. It opened into a maintenance closet, at the back there was a small access hatch set into the floor. Taln prised it open, dropped down and closed it behind him. In the foundation wall of the building was another opening and once through that he was into the tunnels over which the city was built. He moved quickly, making his way back to the sparse room where his young charge lay.

 

 ooOOoo

         

Whistling, the droid technician entered his workshop and switched on the lights. The room was thrown into sharp relief. The mess of wires on the workbench, the bank of computers, the odd and ends and spare parts from various machines, the row of deactivated droids at the back wall. The Rebel droid...

 

The technician stopped, turned and looked around the room. Then he raced back out the door and into the corridor, frantically looking up and down its length. He ran into the next room, then the next...

 

He returned to his own workstation, threw himself into a chair and buried his head in his hands. How could he have lost the droid? Had it been taken? Could the Resistance have come in and taken it? Wouldn't they have been seen? What would he tell command? Questions buzzed around his mind in a maddening, confusing blend. Then, slowly, they clarified themselves, his thoughts becoming clear.

 

He would lie.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Luke wakened slowly, relishing the warmth, the dark, the comfort of the bed, the pillow under his head and the blanket over his body. He stretched, and was immediately alert as a quiver of needles pierced his back. He hissed, steeling himself for further discomfort and was pleasantly surprised when the pain settled into a gentle throb.

 

"So you're awake," Taln's voice noted from shadows. There was some mirth in its tones.

 

Luke turned his head, blinked as the light was switched on and he saw Taln settle back into the hard chair by the door after switching on the light. "Don't you ever go home?" he asked.

 

"Just following orders," the man responded, smiling. "Would you like help to sit up?"

 

"I don't know if I even want to _try_ sitting up," Luke told him. His pain levels were tolerable and he was loathed to try anything that would cause them to rise again. He wasn't exactly sure how long he had been holed up with the Resistance in this tiny room. The first few days had been spent flat on his back and secured to minimise his movements. The Doc had been periodically checking on his progress and dispensing more drugs. His shoulder had been popped back into place; his ribs and ankle fractures were healing well, though his leg was still encased in a bacta cast, along with a maddening itch.

 

His back injury was healing also, the swelling responding to the anti-inflammatories, and they had been encouraging him to sit up, get out of bed and take a few unsteady steps supported by the crutches the doc had supplied. He had also been able to take his first welcome shower in the bathroom next door.

 

"But, since you offered..."

 

Taln crossed the room and helped Luke manoeuvre himself into a sitting position. "There," he told the pilot, "that didn't hurt as much."

 

Luke stared at him, dubiously. "Maybe not for you," he observed, dryly.

 

Taln chuckled, brought the chair over and placed it beside Luke's cot. As he sat back down he said, "I've got some information on your droid."

 

This news brightened Luke up a little. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

 

Taln shrugged. "He's in Imperial Headquarters, droid technicians have been trying to reactivate him."

 

"He's damaged?" Luke asked in dismay.

 

Taln shook his head. "Don't think so. But, they can't get into his data banks. It's locked tight."

 

Luke smiled at first; Artoo could be stubborn when he chose to be. Then he sobered as another thought occurred to him. "They'll take him apart, won't they?"

 

The older man shrugged. "Possibly. Probably. Depends on what they think he has stored in his memory."

 

"There's no chance of trying to get him out?" Luke questioned dolefully, already knowing the answer.

 

Taln merely raised his eyebrows, smiled and shook his head again. "We have a little more to be concerned about than your droid, I'm afraid," he explained gravely. "We're unable to contact the Alliance to let them know we have you. And we can't get you off world until the fuss over the attack dies down, and the search for you ends..." Taln tailed off.

 

"And they won't call the search off until they have me," Luke finished for him.

 

"But, we're hoping they'll scale down in the next few weeks, which may give us an opening to move you out of the city. Once we've achieved that, we might be able to get a message out to the Alliance, and arrange for them to come and pick you up away from a populated centre."

 

Luke stared at the four bland walls of the room. Being moved appealed him, a change of scenery seemed stimulating. If he hadn't had Taln's company, Isla popping in and out and the doc coming every other day to monitor his progress, he was sure he would have gone mad with boredom. "Can't I be moved sooner?" he inquired, as the door to the room slid open and the doctor entered carrying his med-pack.

 

"No," the medic answered for Taln. "You're not fit enough for the journey, and I had to come through three check points just to get here."

 

Behind him Taln frowned

 

"Where is here?" Luke queried, interested and a little perplexed, not seeing Taln's change of mood. "If they're searching everywhere else then, why not here?"

 

"If you value your life, Luke, stop asking questions!" Taln turned to the doctor, a grin replacing the scowl. "It's all he's done since he woke up."

 

Luke frowned, recalling his conversation with Taln. "Have I?" Then realised he'd answered with another question. He smiled, shrugged, then winced as his shoulder protested a little. "Sorry," he offered.

 

"Well, let's see how you're doing," the medic suggested, pulling the blanket away from Luke. "I've brought the back brace I was speaking about, but I want to see you moving around again before I show you how to wear it. I've also got some exercises I want you to start. How's the ankle feeling?"

 

As Luke replied, and the doctor worked, Taln left the room giving them more room and privacy. It was cooler in the corridor and smelled a lot fresher than the room in which he'd spent most of the last two weeks with the pilot. He leaned against the wall waiting for the doctor to finish.

 

"Loitering?" Isla questioned, from the stair well. She was carrying a very welcome tray of breakfast, a jug of fresh water and a couple of glasses. A large, weighty looking bag hung from her bent elbow.

 

Taln smiled in greeting. "Doc's with him, again."

 

She handed the tray to him. "Here take this. I feel like a beast of burden."

 

"A burden, but never a beast, Isla," Taln joked with gentle humour. "What's in the bag?"

 

"Well, after a remark like that I'm wishing it was a heavy brick." she smiled. "Clothes for our young friend. He needs a change from those fatigues he came in. I requisitioned them and some boots from the General's son."  

 

The frown returned. "That was risky."

 

"Nonsense," Isla laughed. "It's part of my duties to over see the laundry in the house and sort out the clothing. Besides, the spoiled brat won't notice they're gone and... But she noticed he still frowned. "What's wrong?"

 

He placed the tray on the floor, poured himself a glass of water, stood and took a long draught. "How did the doc arrive?"

 

"By speeder. Why?"

 

Taln poured the remaining water from his glass into his hand and ran it over his face.

 

"We have washrooms, you know, Taln." Isla's voice was grave. "What is it?"

 

"He should have used the tunnels, he's been told to use the tunnels," Taln observed, angrily. "He's taking too many chances coming through check points, especially when carrying supplies for the boy."

 

"Then you'll have to talk with him, and..."

 

There was a thump and cry of pain from the room. Taln palmed opened the door and stuck his head in, immediately spotting Luke - dressed only in shorts and a white back brace - on the floor and the doctor trying to lift him back up. The Rebel's face was flushed, he was breathing hard through gritted teeth.

 

Taln went to him taking Luke's other arm and helped the doctor hoist him into the chair.

 

Luke shook his head, feeling downhearted and sore. Pins and needles were racing up and down his legs. "This is ridiculous! I can't afford to be here any longer. I need to get back to my squad."

 

The medic crouched at his side, trying to adjust the back brace he had fitted. "What you need is time to heal, Luke."

 

"I don't have time!" Luke burst, frustration biting his words. He was furious at himself for failing to take more steps unaided, furious at getting himself into this situation. Furious at getting shot down in the first place. He looked up at the three of them, feeling foolish, feeling despondent.

 

"Look," he told them, more calmly. "I'm not an idiot, I know what's happening out there," he gestured upward, indicating by his words and the action the city beyond. "I know the risks you're all taking for me. I just feel I should be doing more in return."

 

"You can't," Taln told him shortly.

 

"He can," Isla countered, handing Luke the bag. "He can put some clothes on and stop feeling sorry for himself. Then he can eat the breakfast I've brought down."

 

Luke took the bag, opened it and began to fish around.. "Thanks," he told the Twi'lek woman with some regret for his outburst. "I appreciate what you're doing for me." He drew out a pair of under shorts: briefs more than boxers. They were small, black and the fabric stretched as he pulled on the waistband, though he was sure they would fit only to his hips.

 

"Good. Now, get dressed. It doesn't do my old heart any good seeing you lounging around half naked, especially if you're going to wear those," she retorted with a wink.

 

Taln laughed at the surprised look on the boy's face. "You have a filthy mind, Isla," he told her as he ushered her out. He turned to Luke with a grin, nodded at the briefs he still held and quipped. "One size fits all, huh, Luke?" Then he laughed at the flush that covered the youth's features.

 

"Now," the physician said to Luke with a smile. "About those exercises."

 

 ooOOoo

 

"You have some news for me, Ayrn?" Mahkren asked of the Major. He was becoming impatient for some results from the search of the city. However, thus far all he had was angry citizens, angry shipping companies, and a very annoyed Primary Interrogator complaining of his cells filling up with whatever dross Ayrn scraped off the streets. Soon Coruscant would be breathing down his neck.

 

"Yes, Sir," Ayrn said quickly. "The droid proved worthless. The technician working on him has reported it must have sustained terminal damage during the crash. He has sent it for scrap."

 

"Droid!" Mahkren roared, standing. "You come in here to tell me about a droid? Where is the Rebel? Where is the Resistance?!"

 

Ayrn took a step back, a mask of fear momentarily covering his face. Then he gathered himself. "I'm coming to that, General. We are on the verge of arresting a suspect."

 

"Who?" Mahkren breathed.

 

"A doctor, Sir. He's made several journey's in the last two weeks since the attack to the, ah... Imperial Esplanade area of the city."

 

The General sat down. "That is an exclusive area, Ayrn. I have a house there. It is not uncommon for a doctor to make house calls to affluent patients."

 

Ayrn shifted his feet on the plush carpet of Mahkren's office. "I'm aware of that, Sir. It is the only area of the city we have not searched..."

 

Mahkren shook his head, clearly unhappy with the implied meaning of Ayrn's statement. "I won't allow it! Not without evidence. Too many of my neighbours have contacts elsewhere, to anger them would be foolhardy." Not to mention career damaging.

 

Ayrn smiled. "I am sure the doctor will give us the evidence, Sir."

 

"How so?"

 

"I have had him investigated, Sir," he announced pleased with himself. "He has recently commandeered several items of medical equipment which, after checking the medical records of his patients, do not appear to have been used on any of them."

 

"Such as?" Mahkren's interest was piqued.

 

"More recently a back brace and crutches. Just after the attack, a bacta cast, calcium cement, and several weeks supply of pain killers and anti-inflammatories."

 

The General sat back into his chair, grinning, feeling that at last there was some movement in the search, that perhaps soon the Rebel pilot would be in his grasp "Then bring him in," he ordered. "Hand him to Rhovan for questioning."

 

Ayrn saluted before spinning on his heel. "Yes, sir!"

 

ooOOoo

 

Luke splashed water on his face, rinsed off the soap and reached for the towel he'd placed over the side of the sink and dried himself. Taking the crutches from against the wall he hobbled back over to the cot and eased himself down. He could still hear Taln and the physician talking outside the door. The discussion was heated, but their voices kept low and Luke knew neither of them wanted him to overhear what they were saying.

 

 

He lifted up the plain blue shirt Isla had provided for him and drew it on to cover the brace he wore. It, the black briefs, and dark blue pants the doctor had helped him get into, were expensively cut and Luke felt a little uncomfortable in the fine material that clung to his body for a more decorative effect than practical function.

 

He picked up a packet of pills and popped two of them into his hand before placing them into his mouth and lifting a glass of the water Isla had brought down. He took a drink to wash the tablets down. He was still sore. The exercises the doctor had taken him through were simple, but they had left him aching and tired. His back had cramped up, the muscles taut and stiff, and he reached behind trying to massage away the pain from himself, trying to sit straight. The brace bit into his skin, scratching and itching.

 

"You're a liability!!" Taln burst out from beyond the door. "Dade will..."

 

"Keep your voice down!" the medic answered and the conversation continued again with whispered, angry tones, too low for Luke to hear.

 

He felt awkward, embarrassed, out of place here and hoped the men weren't fighting about him. He was grateful to these people, owed them his life, his safety, but he was also very aware of the danger that his presence here placed them in. As he healed he had tried to ask Taln about this place, about the Resistance, the Imperial presence on Escaal. But his questions were politely deflected, or he was told that knowing too much information about anything or anyone could be hazardous to them all. Luke understood this, but it was a conversation killer, and hardly conducive to building any kind of relationship with anyone let alone the man who had been given the task of remaining with him and protecting him.

 

But, then, perhaps that was the idea. Taln was protecting himself and the Resistance more than he was protecting Luke.

 

"Ah," he whispered to himself, wriggling his toes in the cast. "Ah, shit..." He rubbed the cast against the side of the cot, hissing in frustration. "Shit...shit...ah!“ His ankle itch was back with a vengeance. It wouldn't be so bad if he could have bent down and stuck his finger down the side of the cast, but his back wouldn't allow him to attempt even that movement!

 

He pulled himself back to lean against the wall, fighting to ignore the prickle, taking comfort in the doctor's promise that the cast could be removed within a day or two. The monotony of hiding was getting to him. The days filled with the same dullness was sapping his strength. He should be with his squad running patrols and missions, enjoying the camaraderie of their company. He should be leading them into  
battle, drinking to their successes and to their losses. He should be with Han and Leia...

 

Where the hell were they anyway? He'd been expecting his impulsive Corellian friend to throw open the door, grin at him and offer some flippant remark before dragging him out and escaping to the Millennium Falcon under a flurry of Imperial blaster fire. And once there, to an embrace of reunion with Leia; to a Wookiee hug from Chewbacca and fussing from Threepio. But as the reality of his situation overshadowed his dreams, that expectation was now only a very dim hope. There would be no wild rescue, merely a very slow wait for the Imperials to lose interest in him.

 

Or find him.

 

Luke threw the thought away as he realised there was silence outside the door. He wanted to be able to pretend he had been doing something other than trying to listen as Taln returned, but given the only other thing he could have been doing was sleeping, he merely sat where he was and let the man think what he wanted.

 

"Well," Taln commented with a smirk, with none of the anger that Luke had heard in his voice earlier. However, Luke could see the man was deeply concerned, no matter how lightly he spoke. "Going clubbing?"

 

Luke smiled, glancing down at the shirt. "Its... um... not really me," he pulled at the fabric covering his chest. "Where did Isla get it?"

 

"You don't need to know." It wasn't said maliciously, just matter of factly and with a smile.

 

Taln chuckled at the sigh he got in response, and the resigned look on the boy's face. He sat down by the door again. "This is hard for you," he stated needlessly, but recognising that Luke was almost bored to tears by the situation.

 

"You can tell, huh?" Luke replied, trying to inject some humour into his voice and failing miserably. He looked at Taln, saw his own tiredness reflected by the other man. "Can't be easy for you either, baby sitting me."

 

"Nope, you're a pain in the ass, kid."

 

"You're not the first person to tell me that," Luke laughed lightly, thinking of Han. He was beginning to feel the pills he had taken take effect as the pain from his back receded to bearable levels. "But, that's not what I meant. You must have family..."

 

Taln's face darkened. "No." He rose from the chair, cross to the sink and ran some water, washing his hands.

 

Luke recognised that he'd touched on a difficult subject and that Taln was attempting to deflect attention, to hide his emotions by the simple act. "The Empire killed my family, too," he told the man quietly. "Is that why you joined the Resistance?"

 

"Is that why you joined the Alliance?" Taln threw the question back at Luke.

 

Luke nodded to the man's back. "Yes. I saw what they did, what they left behind, and... Well, I had no other choice anyway."

 

Taln dried his hands and turned back around. He considered Luke for a moment before speaking. "You don't look old enough to have had a family of your own. Was it your parents?"

 

Luke shook his head, recalling his aunt and uncle. "No. My parents died years before. It was my guardians, my aunt and uncle who raised me."

 

"Aunt and uncle," Taln repeated, distracted a little, lost in his own memories. "It was my wife and child, my son."

 

And Luke felt sorry, remorseful. "I'm..."

 

"Sorry?" There was a little hitch of grief in Taln's voice, a little bitterness. He fell into the chair, stared at the ceiling. "You know, I even got an apology from the Empire? A standard; 'His Imperial Majesty regrets the deaths of your wife and son during the Rebel uprising.' Yeah, right, like the Emperor knew my boy, like he knew Cairn and his mother. Tried to blame it on the uprising when his troops fired on them, said they were in the wrong place at the wrong time." His voice was full of derision, contempt, anguish. He glanced back at Luke. "How old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?"

 

"Twenty," Luke confirmed softly.

 

"Just a kid," he announced, shaking his head. "You know you should be out there, going on dates with pretty girls," he gestured at the clothes Luke wore, "clubbing, partying and getting drunk. Not....this..." He trailed off, realising his emotions were getting the better of him. He drew in a deep breath trying to temper his feelings.

 

"I still date. Get drunk - occasionally," Luke told him, trying to be humorous, trying to help Taln gain control. "How old was your son?" He didn't know why he asked. No, that was a lie. He asked because he wanted to understand why Taln had attempted to remain so distant to him.

 

"He'd be seventeen now, if he'd lived. Fourteen when he died." And Taln met Luke's eyes, held the gaze for a moment then dropped it. "You need to repeat those exercises the doc showed you," he waved with his hands, motioning for Luke to get up, dismissing the previous conversation. He stood. "Here, I'll give you a hand."

 

Luke took Taln's hand, let the man help him to his feet and shuffled across the floor under Taln's directions and guidance. He felt humbled by Taln's story, had some of his curiosity answered and had gained some understanding of Taln's motives and his pain. Understood that, like him, Taln had wanted revenge on the Empire, had seen its rotten core for himself, had viewed the death's of loved ones and wanted, in some small way, to fight back.

 

 ooOOoo

 

The doctor fought the urge to gun the engine of his speeder and push it faster through the traffic. He knew Taln was right, but that didn't make him feel any less annoyed at the dressing down he'd received. Though, at least Taln hadn't spoken to him in front of Isla, or worse, the Rebel pilot. He applied the brakes, slowing a little to allow a larger transporter to take the space in front of him. Yes, he should be using the tunnels under the city and travelling by foot, but that would slow him up, test his already very tight schedule. He had his own patients to treat, and since the Rebel attack almost two weeks ago, his workload remained heavy. Travelling by speeder was quicker and he had only used it when he was pushed for time.

 

The traffic slowed as he reached the inner city area where his hospital was located, and he pulled his ID from his pocket knowing he was coming up on another checkpoint. He followed the troopers' directions and pulled up as the speeder before him was waved through.

 

He glanced up at the soldier by the side of his vehicle and handed over his ID.

 

"Where are you headed, Doctor Yian?" the soldier questioned.

 

"The Imperial Medical Centre."

 

"Where have you been?"

 

"As I said, when I passed through here earlier, I was seeing private patients." He injected a tone of annoyance into his voice.

 

The soldier gestured to another, more superior, trooper. The non-com approached and looked at the ID and then back at the physician. "Doctor Yian," he started. "Kindly step out of your vehicle."

 

"What?" Yian barked, suddenly afraid, as more soldiers surrounded his speeder. "What is the meaning of this?"

 

"Step out of your vehicle, Doctor. On the orders of Major Ayrn you are under arrest on suspicion of treason."

 

Yian got out of the speeder. "Tre.... This is a mistake!" he blustered. "You can't arrest someone going about their legitimate business!" They bound his hands, pushed him towards a waiting troop carrier. "I want to see my advocate!" he demanded.

 

There was humour in the reply. "As a suspected traitor you have no rights to legal representation..."

 

ooOOoo

 

Artoo Detoo quietly blooped along the empty corridor within Imperial Headquarters. It had been difficult biding his time and keeping silent as he had been prodded and poked and given commands that he'd had to re-route to disobey. But as soon as the chance had been given him he had silently activated himself. His main mission now was to locate his young master and be reunited with him.

 

A squad of troopers marched passed, and Artoo busily studied a blank metal wall. They paid no notice to him, and he continued on the way they had come, hoping to find an access port to the central computer and hoping his young master had not been captured.

 

 ooOOoo

Luke had been unable to sleep. It wasn't just the nagging ache from his back injury and his inability to find a comfortable position. It was too many days, with too little to do that had completely unbalanced his normal sleeping patterns - if you could call the sleep he got as an Alliance pilot a pattern - and lately he had been left staring into the darkness with only his own thoughts for company while Taln snored from the pallet he rolled out onto the floor every night. He was envious of the man's ability to start sleeping the minute he laid his head down.

 

Tonight was a little different, however, though Luke could not identify why. He had lain as usual staring into the darkness, and as usual sleep had not come, but instead of feeling weary and frustrated Luke was bright, his mind buzzing, his stomach churning with agitation. It reminded him of the feeling he got when his aunt and uncle died; of how he felt just before the Empire had surprise attacked their escort convoy near the Hasthaal system. It was an uneasy "knowing" feeling one he had grown to trust, one he suspected may be due to his untapped Force abilities - not that he'd much chance to think about them, to develop them any, since joining the Rebellion.

 

He threw off the blanket and struggled up from the cot.

 

"What y'doin?" Taln mumbled from the floor.

 

"Can't sleep," Luke told him, with concern. "Something's wrong."

 

Taln was immediately awake. "What do you mean? You in pain? Your back?"

 

Luke frowned, thinking, feeling. Wishing Ben Kenobi had been able to teach him more. "No, but something's about to happen."

 

"You're freakin' me out, Luke..." Taln warned.

 

Luke's anxiousness was growing. "I can't explain it, Taln. I just know.. sometimes... when things are going to happen," he explained with frustrated conviction. "And something is going to happen."

 

"Sometimes?" Taln repeated, lifting his eyebrows.

 

Luke nodded. "Yeah, but I'm usually right."

 

"But you don't know what's going to happen?"

 

"No, but it's strong." And getting stronger, the tight knot of nerves in his belly constricting further, adrenaline beginning to filter into his blood stream.

 

Taln rose from the floor, wincing as his bones creaked as he straightened. He snapped the light on. The younger man's words had struck a cord with him, caused his own stomach to roll, and as he folded up his pallet, he scrutinised Luke. Still so very young, a face still fresh - though a little pale - despite the war he had been fighting, the horrors he had seen, the friends and family he had lost. And there was more to him now; a maturity and a confidence that Taln had not previously seen. The boy met his gaze and Taln found it was he who looked away first, unsettled and uneasy. He tied up his bed bundle, pushed it under Luke's cot, and looked up at the younger man. "So, what do we do about this feeling of yours?"

 

"Get ready," Luke told him solemnly, as he reached for his shirt.

 

 ooOOoo

Primary Interrogator, Major Erwin Rhovan watched impassively as the guards lowered the prisoner into the waiting chair and unhooked the suspension line from the binders around the man's wrists. The Major waved his hand and the droid, which hovered nearby, moved back. The doctor was gasping, moaning, shuddering.

 

Rhovan pulled another chair over for himself and sat down in front of the prisoner. He did not like moving an interrogation on so quickly. He preferred to move slowly, to gain control - both physical and mental - over a prisoner. Ignoring essential softening up techniques and going straight to applying pain to a prisoner was risky. However, the doctor was not a soldier, had not had training on how to react to questioning and was thus a softer target, and time was of the utmost importance if they were to move on the Rebel pilot's position.

 

"We know you have been working for the Resistance, Doctor Yian," the Major explained, softly. "We know you have been treating the Rebel pilot. We know you have been visiting the Esplanade."

 

"Pr....private...patient..." Yian panted through his pain.

 

 

Rhovan smiled. "Indeed," he looked up at the man who waited by the door. "Prohibitive patient, more like." He commented.

 

Ayrn laughed in response.

 

Rhovan leaned closer to Yian. "Who is harbouring him?"

 

"I....wouldn.....n't know that..."

 

Ayrn stepped further into the room. "Come now, doctor. We have evidence against you which contradicts that."

 

"Show.... show me," Yian demanded and immediately yelped as he was dealt a blow from behind by one of the guards.

 

"A back brace, a pair of crutches, anti-inflammatories," Ayrn explained. "I could go on, but we all know that the Rebel sustained injuries - that much was clear from the flight suit left in the troop carrier."

 

"What type of injuries would be consistent with ejecting from a fighter in planetary atmosphere, and a hard landing?" Rhovan asked.

 

The doctor looked up at him, trying to focus, his eyes almost swollen shut, his face battered and bloodied. "Depends....on the species."

 

"Human," Ayrn stated from behind. "Male."

 

Yian was confused, not understanding the switch in questioning. He was exhausted, and sore. His throat dry, his breathing laboured. "Fractures..... are...likely, soft tissue damages," he gulped air. "Com...pression....damage to spinal area..ah..."

 

"Injuries which are consistent with the equipment and drugs you procured and never used to treat any of your patients," Ayrn told him, pleasantly. "Oh, and doctor?"

 

Yian tried to look around at him.

 

"You have no private patients in the Esplanade. We checked."

 

"Where is he doctor?" Rhovan questioned again. "Save yourself some pain, and tell me where he is."

 

Yian shook his head, slowly.

 

Rhovan's mouth turned down in anger. "Hoist him back up, bring the droid!"

 

"No! No, please!"

 

"Then where is he?"

 

"The Esplanade..."

 

"Where exactly?"

 

Yian hung his head, feeling defeated, feeling lost. "General Mahkren's townhouse."

 

There was silence, and then Rhovan laughed in delight, dark eyes dancing. He glanced at Ayrn who was also smiling. "I have to admire you doctor, I had thought you broken." He motioned to the guards. "A little more thinking time is required. Hoist him."

 

 

As the doctor squealed, and struggled in panic Rhovan turned to Ayrn. "We'll return when he's more willing to talk."

 

The chamber door slammed closed at their backs shutting out the man's screams.

 

"He's trying to buy time," Rhovan stated. "Waiting until it's past his time for visiting the Rebel again, waiting until the Resistance know he's been taken."

 

"Or he could be telling the truth about the General's house." Ayrn returned.

 

Rhovan chuckled again. "Your sense of humour is as warped as the good doctor's."

 

Ayrn laughed along, then turned serious. "Still, we shouldn't waste any more time. We know enough to raid the Esplanade. I'll contact the General, gain his permission first."

 

“I’m not sure that is such a wise move, Ayrn. The doctor…”

 

“It’s exactly the move we need to take in light of this information,” he clapped his hand on Rhovan’s shoulder., laughing again. “You’re just afraid to upset the General.”

 

"Where is he just now?" Rhovan asked.

 

"At this hour? Home, sleeping." He smiled, shrugged, and then joked. "With a Rebel as a house guest."

 

Rhovan slapped his colleague's back, laughing loudly as they passed the control desk at the entrance to the cell corridor and the Duty Officer who stood there. "Then, rather you than me, Ayrn," he commented as the man stepped into the turbo lift. As the door closed he turned to the officer. "Have the doctor taken down and placed in a holding cell."

 

"Yes, sir"

 

He began to walk away towards his private office off from the main atrium. Then stopped giving another order. "I do not wish to be disturbed, unless they pick up the Rebel pilot."

 

"Of course, Sir."

 

 ooOOoo

General Mahkren stirred at the intermittent and persistent sound of the holo-transmitter. He frowned, pulling the thick quilt tighter around his body. The noise continued and the General sighed and turned onto his back. He opened his eyes, anger immediately welling up when he saw that it was still night. He turned, sat up in bed, and answered the call, seeing the small figure of Major Ayrn flicker on the nightstand.

 

"What?" He barked.

 

"The Rebel is being hidden in the Esplanade, Sir, as I.... we thought," Ayrn reported, sounding elated, yet terribly nervous.

 

Mahkren had been afraid of this, had almost expected this. "And who, among my neighbours, would take such a risk?" Mahkren wanted to know.

 

Ayrn looked uncomfortable. "The doctor did not divulge that information, Sir. He... huh...stated the Rebel was in your house in an attempt to divert us, I believe, Sir."

 

"You disturbed me for this?" Mahkren voice rose in pitch. His home, indeed! His sleep interrupted on the unsubstantiated ramblings of a treasonous doctor.

 

"Uh, no, General, Sir. Rhovan believes the doctor is playing for time, to give the Resistance the opportunity to move the Rebel from the area. We need to search the Esplanade now, Sir, if we are to seize the initiative," he paused. "I need your permission, Sir."

 

The General deliberated on this. He had faith in his interrogator. Rhovan was good, and the information he tore from captives was frequently reliable. But he still didn't like this; didn't like that some very important people were going to be angered, didn't like to think that his neighbours and friends could be involved, that the Resistance could have reached such high positions in society. He grudgingly made his decision. "You have it, Ayrn. But no-one is hurt, and no damage done, unless I am informed first. Understood?"

 

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," he paused again, looking uncomfortable. "And your home General?"

 

"What of it?"

 

"It would work to your benefit, General, if you allowed us to look there also."

 

Mahkren considered the suggestion. If he subjected his own dwellings to the same treatment it may appease his more vocal neighbours. "Very well, carry out your search. Alert me as soon as you have the Rebel and his guardians."

 

"Sir!" Ayrn saluted, and the hologram disappeared.

 

Mahkren threw his covers aside and reached for the clothes his housekeeper had set out for him before he retired. He would have to waken his son, alert his staff to the coming search. He pulled his boots on, laughed out loud. His house!

 

Then he stopped, slowly placed his foot on the floor as a disturbing thought occurred to him There were areas of his home he had never ventured into, areas set aside for his servants, for storage. Where better to hide a fugitive but under his very nose - his own roof. He stood, drew on his gun belt and left his room. He made his way downstairs leaving his son sleeping and his staff ignorant.

 

 ooOOoo

          In the gloom of the detention centre, Dade reached for the comlink in his uniform pocket. In fear of signals being traced, the Network had been operating under communication silence since they had rescued the Alliance pilot. However, using the device now would be the only way to alert his operatives to the coming danger, so it was a chance he would have to take. He keyed the device, spoke quickly and shut it off hoping it was enough.

 

 ooOOoo

Taln dragged a sack out from under the cot and as Luke buttoned his shirt up and watched,  he drew out two blasters and tossed one onto the bed beside the younger man. He opened the bag Isla had brought down still filled with clothes for Luke and emptied the pilot’s medication bottles into it. He looked back at Luke. "You still got that feeling?"

 

Luke nodded. It was like a lead weight of fear knotting in his stomach, an urgency pushing at him from within.

 

Taln closed up the bag, glanced back at Luke, at his cast, at the crutches by the bed. He didn't know why, but he trusted this boy's intuition. However, if anything was happening they would have to move quickly and that cast would hamper them.

"Here," he knelt before Luke, dragging a pair boots from the bag. He then produced a vibroblade from the sack and sliced the cast open. "Doc said it was coming off anyway," he told him.

 

The comlink Taln carried buzzed to life and, as he reached into his pocket, the door behind them swept open and both turned with blasters in hand. Isla stepped back in fright and they relaxed a little, lowering the weapons.

 

"There's stormtroopers in the Esplanade!" she told them breathlessly.

 

Taln activated his comlink and Dade's voice snapped. "Get out!"

 

ooOOoo

 

Their actions took on a new urgency. Isla jammed Luke's boots onto his feet. Taln shouldered the bag, reached for Luke and drew him up, slung his arm around him and, in similar fashion to his arrival, Luke was carried from the room. However, now he was able to move a little better, take more of his own weight, and so they travelled faster along the corridor and down the stairs, listening as they went to the thumping of stormtrooper boots in the house above.

 

Isla opened the passageway to the subterranean tunnels and the two men hurried through. Taln leaned Luke against the roughly hewn wall and turned toward the Twi'lek as the boy gulped for breath and grabbed at the wall for balance.

 

"Give me the detonator," Isla demanded.

 

Taln hesitated. "Isla, I..."

 

"There's no time, Taln. Give it to me. It'll be my pleasure to bring this place down."

 

Luke heaved in another breath as he listened to his helpers with interest and disquiet. He had a very good idea what they were talking about and the fact that the Network had wired the building for demolition did not completely surprise him. He watched as a mixture of emotions cross the woman's face; anger, grief, fear and determination. He gripped the blaster tightly taking small comfort in the feel of it in his hand.

 

Taln fished a small device from his pocket and handed it to his comrade. "Good luck," he wished her, his voice quiet with understanding.

 

"You, too," Isla returned.

 

"Thank you," Luke said, from the side.

 

She smiled at him. "You'd better be worth the trouble, Luke," she told him. And the door closed her abruptly off from them, plunging them into pitch darkness. A torch flared, shining in his face. He blinked, shading his eyes with his hand.

 

"Time to go, kid," Taln informed him, pulling Luke away from the wall. "And I don't think we have much of it."

 

They moved as quickly as they could along the tunnels, down slopes and stairs, along, up and around corners with the torchlight bobbing before them.

 

 ooOOoo

 Isla sealed the door shut, locking it with a code only she knew. She turned, dropping the detonator into her apron pocket, and calmly made her way through the sub-basement, trying to act natural, trying not to run. She passed the room where the boy had been hidden for the past weeks.

 

"El'lana."

 

The voice saying her true name was quiet, but gruff, and it stopped her in her tracks. As she turned towards the room she could feel the blood draining from her upper body down into the pit of her stomach, where it churned and gurgled making nausea a physical symptom of her fear.

"General?" She tried to sound bright, normal, but her voice shook, betraying her. "Did I miss your call? I..."

 

The General was sitting on the mussed up cot holding the cut bacta cast in his hands. "No, but it looks like I missed a guest," he lifted the cast and motioned to the crutches. "Perhaps you have something to tell me."

 

She stepped into the room and looked around. "No, Sir. I believe the evidence speaks for itself." Her fear seemed to dissipate as she spoke and a stillness, a quiet, washed through her. An understanding.

 

Mahkren's face reddened with rage. He stood, threw the cast aside, and took hold of her. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" he whispered with revulsion. "Do you have any idea how this will look!" He slapped her at the end of every statement. "I let you into my home. Gave you employment! Trusted you!" His voice was rising, the slapping became punches. "And you bring the Resistance to my home! A Rebel into my house!" he thundered.

 

Isla sagged under the barrage of blows, her lips burst, her skin bruised. He caught her, dragged her out, called to his stormtroopers. "Take this bitch to Rhovan!"

 

The troopers caught hold of her arms, pulling her along. She stumbled and fell to her knees. As they pulled her up she dipped her hand into her pocket and smiled as her fingers closed around the detonator.

 

 ooOOoo

 

The explosions rocked the area, knocking them off their feet, caused great cracks to run along the fragile ceilings above them. Rocks fell, more tremors kept them down. A rush of air and dust swept along the corridor, covering them. Taln, coughing and spluttering, dragged Luke up; ignoring his protests of pain, then ran on as the tunnel where they had lain was lost in a cascade of rubble. The noise was tremendous, all encompassing; the roar of fires, the rumble of falling masonry.

         

"Come on... help me here, kid," Taln pleaded as Luke stumbled again. He heaved him up, steadied him and they lurched forward through the gathering dust.

 

At last the thundering died, quietened and their pace slowed to a walk. Luke bent forward trying to catch his breath, hacking up debris from heaving lungs. Taln placed him down into the dirt, shone the light in his face and squinted trying to see through grit and tear filled eyes. The boy was caked in a light power. It was thick in his hair, and hot tears from irritated eyes streaked through it down his cheeks. Taln knew he looked very similar.

 

Luke spat into the dirt, sucked saliva into his mouth and spat again. All he could taste was dry grime. He groaned, rolled onto his back and covered his face with his arm, as he tried to catch his breath. "I don..." he started, but his voice dried up, caught in his arid throat.

He barked a cough, holding his rib cage with his arm as his healing ribs objected painfully. "Don't suppose.... you have any water in... that bag?" he finished, gasping.

 

"No," Taln croaked back, sitting down. He placed his blaster on the floor beside him and rubbed his face with his palms. His leg muscles cramped painfully from the exertion of the run and from carrying the younger man. "But there's a place we can go, not far."

 

Luke looked back the way they had come, but could see nothing beyond the torchlight. "I think you brought down some of your tunnels along with the house," he observed.

 

"The house was a bonus," Taln told him, and then explained. "It was the tunnels we wanted to bring down. If they had followed us they would have found the entire network." Then he laughed, the sound was hoarse, a little hysterical from relief at their survival. "Sounded like we brought down the entire block."

 

Luke found this news more than a little disturbing. One house meant several people dead or injured because of him. A whole block could push that figure into the hundreds, and he was afraid for Isla. "Taln," he started hesitantly. "This wasn't just to protect me was it?"

 

"Don't have such a high opinion of yourself, kid," Taln admonished quietly, catching on to Luke's train of thought. "It was done to protect the tunnels, to protect the Network as I said, and to protect us both. If Mahkren's house wasn't brought down just now it would have been soon enough."

 

"Mahkren?"

 

"General Mahkren. System Commander of Escaal."

 

"System Commander!?" Luke was incredulous, astonished. "You hid me in..."

 

Taln chuckled. "Yeah, right under his nose!" Then he turned serious, his words tinged with bitter hatred. "And if we're lucky the bastard was killed."

 

"And Isla? The other people living in the area?"

 

"I'm hoping she got out," Taln explained. In the torchlight he looked grieved, pained and Luke, having lost friends and comrades to combat, could empathise. "As for the others,” Taln went on, “This was the Imperial Esplanade where the higher echelons chose to live, and to us it was always a legitimate target."

 

"A residential area?" Luke's words were more biting than he intended.

 

Taln's face coloured with sudden anger. "You're judging us!?" he laughed, humourlessly.. "You of all people are judging us? How many civilians have you killed, Lieutenant-Commander? How many have suffered due to your attacks? What of the non-military personnel at the weapon's plant you took out? The surrounding urban area that burned down when the storage sections below them blew?"

 

Luke cursed his quick words. He hadn't intended to upset Taln, to appear as though he was condemning him and Isla for their actions. After all, he was only still alive and free due to them. But, the fact that others had to be sacrificed for his liberty sat uneasily with him. It always would. "I understand about war, Taln. I know that every time I pull a trigger someone dies," he explained quietly, regretfully. "I'm not judging you. I'm grateful to you, and Isla. It's just, all this....seems deliberate."

 

As Taln thought about that word, his burst of anger subsided and he gradually realised what Luke was struggling with. He nodded. "Yes, it was deliberate. The Empire will condemn it as an act of terrorist aggression. That's your point isn't it? What is the difference between a bombing run on a munitions development factory, and the bombing of the homes of Imperial ranks?" he shrugged. "Let me tell you, in the eyes of the Empire there is no difference. You. Me. We're both terrorists. To us, to ourselves we're whatever we chose to think."

He rubbed more grit from his face. "Me? I'm a Resistance fighter. I do whatever it takes to make the Empire's presence here difficult. You? You're an idealist."   

 

"Maybe once I was," Luke agreed, thinking about himself when he first became involved, his naiveté, his obvious enthusiasm and verve. Now, two years on, he was tired, soured somewhat. He had seen too much death, had caused too many deaths. He had lost and grieved. He had run and continued to fight, because now he had gone too far to turn back and had nowhere, but the Alliance, to call home. However, beneath it all, he still believed he was doing the right thing, following the right path, and he had the memories of his aunt and uncle, Ben Kenobi and Biggs to spur him on when he doubted. "Maybe I still am and..."

 

"Maybe this isn't the place for philosophical debates," Taln interrupted, pushing himself to his feet. "You think too much, Luke. Sometimes you just have to do the thing!" He held out his hand. "Come on. We've rested enough, we need to get to the hide."

 

Luke took Taln's offered hand and was pulled upright. He groaned, his legs threatened to fold, his ankle pulsed painfully, his back cramped. "I think my drugs are wearing off," he complained as they moved forward.

 

"It's not far," Taln reassured him as he steadied him.

 

They walked on through the tunnels, footsteps muffled on the dry dirt of the floor, sweat beginning to bead on their foreheads, run down their faces. They wiped it and the cloying powder away. Luke's limbs were tight and sore from activity, he was dizzy, nauseous and, by the time Taln stopped again, each breath he took was quietly punctuated with a low exclamation of his exertion.

 

Taln leaned Luke against the wall. "A few minutes more, Luke, then you can rest."

 

Luke merely nodded, unable to do anything else except concentrate on staying on his feet.

 

Taln swept the torch across the wall, prised his fingers into a gap in a brick and worked it out. Underneath was a door panel and he quickly punched in a code, a split appeared in the wall and Taln shouldered it open. He swept the torch around the darkness highlighting packing cases, emergency lanterns and a thin mattress on the floor. He took hold of Luke and brought him into the room, lowering him onto the mattress. Then he turned away activated one of the lights and brought it over and set it beside Luke before rummaging in the crates and withdrawing canisters of water.

 

"How are you doing?" he asked, helping Luke sit up straighter, back against the wall. He handed the pilot one of the bottles, then cracked open one himself. They both took a drink and washed out their mouths, then took long gulps, relishing the coolness, the wetness on their dry throats. They used the remaining liquid to wash their faces, to cleanse the grit from their eyes.

 

"Better for that," Luke told him as his breathing became less laboured.

 

Taln opened the bag he had carried and took out Luke's medication. He tossed the boy the bottle then retrieved more water from the case.

 

Luke threw some tablets to the back of his throat, and washed them down. "Now what?" he asked, looking around the tiny underground room, clearly not relishing his new surroundings.

 

Taln sat back on his heels. "Well, there's enough food and water in here for several days. Take it easy with it and it might last into a couple of weeks. You've got clothes, your drugs, there's blankets and a blaster." He looked up at the low ceiling. "After tonight...things'll be worse..." He trailed off, sounding troubled.

 

Luke didn't like the sound of Taln's words, his use of "you" and not "we". A small flutter of anxiety rippled in his stomach. "You're leaving me here?"

 

"I need to contact Dade," Taln explained, seeing the flare of fear in Luke's eyes, the reluctance to remain by himself in this place. Taln couldn't blame him; he would be loathed to stay here himself. "It's going to be difficult to get to him so I need to be where he can get to me, and this isn't it. Given what's just happened I could be gone a few hours, or a day or two. Shouldn't be anymore. Okay?"

 

"You mentioned a couple of weeks," Luke reminded him, sounding sullen and suspicious.

 

Taln smiled at that. "Worst case scenario," he assured the younger man, he stood, brushed more grit and grime from his clothes. "Okay, code for the door is seven one six. You should be able to hear if anyone approaches. If they're Network they'll give a codeword."

 

"Seven one six," Luke repeated, and then questioned. "Which is?"

 

"For you it's 'Flyby'."

 

Luke wilted in resignation. "I don't suppose there's any reading material in those boxes?" he asked motioning over to where the packing crates lay.

 

Taln shrugged, retrieved his flashlight and blaster. "You could have a look, but I doubt it." He turned towards the door, but the soft voice behind stopped him.

 

"How do you think they found us?"

 

"The doctor. I think the doctor was taken," his voice was grave. "It's the only thing I can think of just now."

 

Luke nodded. After over hearing the two men argue he had been thinking the same. "Don't the Imperials know about the tunnels?" He'd asked this before and gotten the brush off from Taln, now however he was pretty sure Taln would answer a lot of his questions.

 

"In sections, yes. But they gave them no importance, and in places they filled them in before building on top. The Resistance re-opened them, tunnelled more, and found a larger complex the Imperials hadn't."

 

Luke was wanting to ask who had initially built them and why, but he had a more burning, more significant question. "And if the doctor tells them?"

 

"Lets hope they don't ask him, huh?" He moved toward the still open door, was almost through when Luke had another question for him.

 

"Uh, Taln?" he sounded uncomfortable, embarrassed. "Where do I... You know. Uh, take a leak?"

 

Taln flashed him a grin, surprised that there was still humour in this dark place. "Pick a tunnel."

 

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him, and Luke was left in silence. He leaned his head against the brick wall at his back, starting to feel the anti-inflammatories take effect, grateful that the pain was beginning to subside somewhat, but utterly dejected by the turn of events. He could not see any way back to the Alliance, and if he believed what Taln had been saying there would be little chance of him getting out of the city, let alone off world. The Empire appeared to be only one step behind him now, and if the doctor had broken under questioning, then all it would take was the right question asked and they'd be in the tunnels and at that door.

 

The most irritating thing was his inability to help himself. He was at the mercy of the Resistance group, had to follow their directions, had to bite back his impatience and let himself be carried. He shifted on the mattress, uncomfortable, the back brace chafing his skin. He was sure dirt and powder had worked its way underneath the brace, but if he took it off he wouldn't get it back on without help. His stomach rumbled and he glanced at the packing crates wondering what supplies were on offer.

Carefully, he manoeuvred himself to the side and, gripping onto the bricks with his hands, he pulled himself upwards onto his feet hissing with pain as he did so. He paused to allow the discomfort to subside and then gingerly crossed to the pile of boxes. Once there, he slowly lowered himself to his knees and lifted the lid.

 

The box held several bottles of water, some sealed packages of emergency food rations and some basic medical supplies. Luke lifted another bottle of water and some rations. Just as carefully he returned to the mattress with his goods and sat back down. He was discouraged at the amount of effort it took to complete simple acts, at how much energy he had to use, at how he had to concentrate. He hated this, abhorred this weakness, this whole situation.

 

But surely this rather than the fate the Imperials would have in store for him, he chided himself. At least here there was still a glimmer hope of getting out and back to the Rebellion - even if he couldn't yet see it.

 

"Get a grip, Luke," he told himself, his voice sounding strange in the silence. He popped a seal on one of the food packs, grimaced at the look of the dried meat, checked the use by date, bit down and chewed using a drink of water to help wet his mouth.

 

By the time he was finished eating, the pills he had taken were having their full effects and he was tired and drowsy. He grabbed a blanket and rolled it into a pillow, placed his blaster on the dirt next to the makeshift bed, then he lay down and tried to sleep.

 

 

 ooOOoo

 

For the second time in just over two weeks, rescue teams were scouring ruined and burning buildings. Men and droids were carrying dead and injured beings from the huge pit their homes had fallen into; the dead to join  growing rows laid upon the ground, the injured to waiting emergency vehicles, to be stabilised and whisked away to the nearest medical centres. Fires were burning intensely in several areas throwing up a pall of black smoke, casting out the stench of charred building materials, burning fuels and flesh.

Major Ayrn watched the activity from his speeder, the canopy closed, the air filters on so it was only clean air he breathed. His thin face was strained with worry and he ran his gloved hands nervously through his hair.

 

They had found the body of the General's teenage son just over an hour before, and Ayrn's thoughts alternated between hoping that his superior was also dead, to hoping he would be found alive, to knowing that he would be the one held accountable for this mess.

 

The comlink in the speeder crackled to life. "We've found the General, Sir."

 

"Thank you," Ayrn responded tightly, his mouth suddenly growing dry. He left the vehicle striding toward the bank of waiting ambulances, passing the rows of the dead. He spotted the General immediately, shouting and arguing with his helpers as they attempted to assist him. His hair and beard were thick with dust, matted with blood that streamed from a head wound. He was batting away the hand of a female rescue worker as she tried to cover the wound.

 

"Find my son!" Mahkren was barking, he grabbed the dressing from the emergency worker, placed it on his own head and glared at her. "My son?"

 

"Sir!" Ayrn greeted with a mixture of trepidation and relief. Apart from the head wound the General looked relatively unscathed.

 

Mahkren looked his way, his mouth turning down in fury and distaste. "Major, you have failed in your duty to find the Rebel and this is the result. I ought to..."

 

"You were the one who initially forbade me to search here, Sir," Ayrn threw back at him, surprised at his own courage, or stupidity. "You cannot blame this totally on me."

 

Surprise at the retort flared in the General's eyes, then anger. "Ayrn, you..."

 

"Your son is dead, Sir," Ayrn told him abruptly, immediately feeling relief that attention was diverted from him, but regret as the large man before him suddenly shrank with grief.

 

"Where is he?" the General asked, quietly.

 

Ayrn stood to the side giving Mahkren a clear view of the bodies lying on the ground. The man stood and pushed him aside as he stumbled forward, and the Major watched coldly as Mahkren fell to his knees beside one prone figure. He walked slowly to the General's back, glancing at the dead youth. He was eighteen, dark haired like his father had been, smooth skinned. The back of his head was smashed opened and blood and brain matter leaked, his night attire torn and charred.

 

"The medics say he was killed in his sleep," Ayrn noted.

 

"That's supposed to make me feel better about this?" Mahkren questioned dryly, calmly despite his heaving emotions, his compressed anguish. He gazed at his dead son, at the blood on the ground around his head. Then he looked up at the Major. "Have you found El'lana?"

 

"Yes, Sir. She was found near two troopers. All dead."

 

"It was her, Ayrn." He spoke quietly, stroking his son's thick hair, ignoring the gore gathering on his hand. "She brought the Rebel into my house."

 

Ayrn looked toward the rubble of the General's home. "Then he may still be in there," he stated hopefully.

 

Mahkren shook his head. "No, he's gone. I found where she hid him in the sub-basement, just before the explosion. But he was gone."

 

Ayrn's mind raced. Just before the explosion? The Rebel was gone. The troopers were still being deployed at the time, running into the General's home and those surrounding it - using all exits. The Esplanade itself had been cordoned off and no one had been allowed in or out during the exercise. But the Rebel had escaped, _before_ the explosion. How had he got past the stormtroopers? Sub-basement, meant a stairway...

Sub-basement meant _under_ ground level and all the buildings in the immediate area had sank into a void. The captured doctor had told the truth about the Rebel's hiding place! He had told the truth and he and Rhovan had laughed dismissing the comments as stubbornness, as delaying tactics. Perhaps then Doctor Yian knew more.

 

"I want you to find that Rebel bastard, Major. I want you to find him, and I want him to suffer for this." Mahkren told him, softly, the calm words venomous.

 

"He will, Sir,"" Ayrn confirmed, for him. "I give you my word."

 

Mahkren glared up at him. "I will take more than your word if you should fail me, Major," he warned.

 

Ayrn balked at the threat, then pushed away his fear. "I will not fail you, General.“ He already knew exactly where to restart the search. He saluted his superior and turned on his heels, striding back to his speeder, leaving Mahkren to grieve alone among the debris and the dead.

 

ooOOoo

 

Taln heaved himself out of the hole in the ground and stood on the cool concrete floor of the basement storeroom. He was surrounded by crates, boxes and barrels. A low hum came from the giant freezer compartment at the far end of the room. At this early hour of the morning he knew the diner would not yet be open and he would have time to clean up and change before taking a table and waiting for Dade. A public meeting would be risky for them both but it was important that he see Dade face to face to discuss what options they had left. Another private meeting was out of the question so soon after his last visit to Dade's apartment and sending a transmission was impossible. It was standard practise to frequent identified friendly public eateries on a rotating basis - this week it was Saa-Raa's.

 

His boot heels clicked on the floor as he crossed the room toward the door then jumped as it swung open and a large figure entered.

 

"Taln!" the Gran exclaimed, its three eyes blinking furiously. "You're safe! I was worried, when the Esplanade blew..."

He trailed off, craning his neck to look beyond the man at the hole in the ground. "You... haven't brought him here have you?" he questioned anxiously. "I agreed to let the Network use my place, but not to harbour any..."

 

"Relax Saa-Raa," Taln told him. "He's not here. I need a shower and change of clothes," he explained quickly, not wanting to get into a discussion with the creature. "Has there been word from Dade yet?"

 

Saa-Raa shook his head - a human habit he had picked up. "No, nothing," he said then gestured to the back of the storage room. "You'll find some human clothes back there. You can use the public facilities to wash - but lock the door. I'll be opening up soon to serve breakfasts."

 

"That sounds great," Taln enthused, as his stomach grumbled. "You could rustle me up some," he suggested raking through the crates Saa-Raa had indicated. He gathered up a clean shirt and pants and followed the Gran up into the cafe itself. He disappeared into the bathrooms as Saa-Raa fired up the cooking facilities.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Rhovan's mood was ugly as he waited for Ayrn to arrive. He had been heading home when the news of the explosion at the Imperial Esplanade had broken, and so he had turned back, took the elevator back down to maximum security and had waited in his office for prisoners to arrive. He had seen very little of his own home, his own comforts since the Rebel raid, had been spending most of his time questioning the suspects Ayrn's searches had brought to him. None of them were Resistance, many of them just citizens who had objected to the way the searches had been carried out, and most of them Rhovan had ordered to be released. It was good policy to show leniency, as well as ruthlessness, to the general populace as without balance respect for the authorities could not truly exist. It was an area where he and Mahkren did not agree.

 

He reclined into his chair and placed his feet on the computer terminal before him. He had been looking forward to getting home, had been looking forward to stripping out of his stark uniform, to taking a hot shower and getting some decent sleep. But, as yet, there were no sign of any prisoners, and he had been about to try leaving again when he received a quick transmission from Ayrn that they needed to speak to the doctor again. His mood had further deteriorated; no shower, no sleep, only further torment of a broken man.

 

He stood up as the call came through that Ayrn had arrived. Tugging his tunic down, he walked stiffly from his private chamber. "This had better be worth it," he warned falling into step with the Major, heading for the cell corridor.

 

Ayrn was animated, eyes bright with excitement and agitation. "It _was_ the General's house the Resistance used," he babbled. "The General survived, but his son was killed and..."

 

"What?" Rhovan exclaimed in horror, in disbelief at the teenager's death. "How's Mahkren taking it?"

 

They stopped by a cell door. "As a father would," Ayrn told him, succinctly. Then he smiled thinly. "I wouldn't relish being that pilot once he's in custody."

 

Rhovan, reaching to palm open the cell door, hesitated at this, at the tone used to express the words. "Once he's in custody his fate is in my hands, Ayrn. Even the General cannot argue with that. I've let you in with the doctor as his information has aided you with the search." There was a warning along with the words." However, with the Rebel, policies dictate that..."

 

Ayrn chuckled humourlessly. "Lighten up, no-one's going to step on your precious territory, but I suspect the General will wish to dictate his final punishment. Once your job is done, of course."

 

"You sound convinced we'll get him?"

 

"I know where he is," Ayrn shared with a conspiratorial whisper. "I just need the doctor to confirm it for me and to tell me how to get in." He bent forward in front of Rhovan and opened the door himself, stepping down first into the close, fetid atmosphere of the holding cell.

 

 ooOOoo

Taln placed his sixth tumbler of hot beverage on the counter of the diner and shifted his buttocks on the stool. He glanced up at the holo-player in the corner watching the newscaster spew more rhetoric propaganda. He sighed, covered his glass with his hand as Saa-Raa passed by with a new pitcher, and shook his head. Anymore of the sickly sweet tea and he'd be violently sick.

Despite being late afternoon the diner was still moderately busy and Taln hoped that enough people had come and gone for it not to be noticed that he had remained in place for the whole of the morning and into the afternoon. He would have to move soon, take a walk for a while before returning. That might mean that he could miss Dade, but remaining too long in the same place would be too dangerous. He had already sat for far longer than was wise.

 

Saa-Raa passed again, paused and whispered. "Imperial Company," before moving on.

 

A quiet fell over the diner as the door opened and conversations waned as the customers noted the newcomer wearing a black Imperial uniform and a much hated insignia. Taln didn't turned around as the man took up the stool next to him. Saa-Raa reluctantly approached again. "How may I serve you, Sir?" There was barely disguised disgust in the Gran's voice.

 

The man glanced at the menu above and behind the serving counter. "Just a hot spache, leave out the herbs."

 

"As you wish, Sir," Saa-Raa bowed minutely. He hated all this man represented but remained courteous, not wishing unwanted attention. He moved away to attend to the order.

 

Taln took another sip from his glass.

 

"They got to the doctor..." The Imperial spoke softly, as conversations began again. He was looking directly ahead, over the counter watching the Gran work.

 

"I figured as much," Taln responded, looking down into his drink. "How's he doin'?"

 

"He'll be dead soon. Rhovan's going to have a private chat with him."

 

"It's too bad he's waited until after the doc had spilled his guts," Taln observed, dryly. "So, now what?"

 

They paused as Saa-Raa placed the man's drink down, waited until the Gran had responded to the call from another customer.

 

"The tunnels are compromised. Ayrn's deploying troopers and seeker droids as we speak. Where's the Rebel?"

 

"The main hide, for now. We'll have to move him on though, it won't take them long to reach him."

 

"No, Taln. It's time to take Isla's advice. Leave his body where they can find him." There was regret in the smooth voice.

 

Taln chilled. "Dade, I...I think..."

 

"Don't call me that in public," the soldier warned, tightly.

 

Taln shook his head. "I'm sorry. I just think we should give the boy a chance. Luke's....." He stopped knowing he'd slipped again by mentioning the youth's name.

 

Dade glanced around, caught Taln's eye, then stared forward again. He took a sip from his cup. "The Doc told us he called himself _'Luke',_ " he whispered, with sorrow. "You like him," he noted.

 

"Yes."

 

There was an audible sigh. "It's gone too far, Taln. For the good of the Resistance, for his own good. It has to end now. Too many people have died." Dade's expression was final, fixed.

 

"Then why kill one more?"

 

“Because it will end with him. We can go quiet, rebuild as was done before." Taln was silent, took another sip. Dade could feel his reluctance. "I can get someone else to do it, if you can't. But the pilot must die."

 

"No," Taln said quickly, horrified at the thought of a stranger placing a pistol at the boy's head, picturing Luke's fear and confusion. He wondered if Luke would be able to sense his betrayal before it happened, if the youth was sitting now, contemplating 'something' happening again.

 

"I'll do it." He felt he owed Luke that much. Taln took some coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the counter paying from his drinks. Without looking at his commander, he headed for the back door, toward the public facilities, then cut to the left and entered the store room heading back to the tunnels.

 

ooOOoo

 

Luke screwed the pill bottle shut and washed down his medicine with a mouthful of water. He shoved the bottle into the pocket of his pants then leaned back against the dry wall of the hide. Since Taln had left, the quiet and silence of the place had seemed to grow, seemed to expand and get bigger as each hour had passed. It was an uncomfortable feeling; sitting alone in an empty maze of catacombs several metres under a bustling city and being totally reliant on one person. Coupled with that was the sense of still not being safe, still being under threat of discovery. His adrenaline levels had dropped but not completely dissipated. However, considering what had happened within the past day it wasn't entirely surprising that he was still somewhat unnerved.

 

He had tried to shake off the feelings, tried to settle his mind and focus on other things. He had tried to sleep, but only dozed fitfully. He had tried to do the exercises the doc had shown him, but the escape through the tunnels had left him sore, and after only a few minutes he'd had to give up as the muscles around his back wrenched, tearing a cry of pain from him. He'd returned to the mattress and, using the wall for support, he'd slid down to sit. His ankle hurt, his ribs were aching again, and the pins and needles were back in his legs. He fervently hoped that he had not done himself any lasting damage.

 

He absently scratched at his side where the back brace irritated and rubbed his skin, wondering how long he had been here, how long he would have to remain here. He didn't like it, didn't want to be here and, if truth be told, the loneliness scared him. He lifted the water canister placed it to his lips again and paused as a sound sliced quietly through the silence.

 

It was high-pitched, electronic, repetitive, and it was getting louder, getting closer! Droid noise! A seeker!

 

He reached for the blaster Taln had given him and, gripping it tightly, he stared apprehensively at the door waiting for it to glide open and...

 

Footsteps! Muffled voices! Luke's heart drummed in his chest, as he realised he'd left the lantern on and he prayed that the door was totally sealed and there were no spaces for dribbles of light to betray him in the tunnels beyond. He listened and waited for them to pass - or to burst in - fighting down his fright, his consternation.

 

Then it grew quiet, silent once more and Luke began to relax as he lowered the blaster.

 

"Flyby."

 

He almost yelled with shock at the whisper, almost swung the blaster up and pulled off a shot before sense prevailed at the recognised code word. The door swung open and Taln entered looking nervous and agitated.

 

"There's someone in the..." Luke began needlessly.

 

"Troopers. Seekers," Taln told him quickly, almost absently. "We need to get out of here before more arrive. Give me the blaster, I'll help you up."

 

Luke handed his gun over, gave his hand to Taln who guided him to his feet. "Where're we going?" he asked as they entered the tunnels.

 

"Another temporary hide, further from here," Taln's tone was tight, brief and Luke didn't probe further, unsettled further by his protector's abrupt manner. Things seemed to be twisting out of their control and into the hands of the searching Imperials. Luke didn't think he had ever been so utterly at the mercy of fate, it was a feeling of helplessness he didn't like.

 

They walked in total darkness, in silence, Luke clinging onto Taln for support. They cautiously made their way through the tunnels, pulling into alcoves or corners at the sounds, and at the lights, of droids and troopers. Taln helped him up a level of steps. Then he stopped suddenly at a tunnel junction.

 

"We'll rest here."

 

Luke sank gratefully to his knees, trying to catch his breath, fighting each new flare of pain as it burned through the painkillers he had taken and grated along his spinal column and into his limbs. Taln moved behind him and switched on a flashlight. Luke glanced around, frowning as he realised they had forgotten their gear in their rush to vacate the hide.

 

 "We...need to go back," he gasped, grimaced at another wave of pain. "We forgot..."

 

He stopped as he noticed Taln still held his blaster, as he noticed Taln's own gun was still in its holster, as he noticed they were at a junction of a main tunnel way. He looked at Taln, who turned his eyes away.

 

Taln hadn't brought his bag of clothes and medicines because he wasn't going to need it.

 

"Shit…“ Luke breathed, fear punching in with his sudden understanding of the situation. Fear and fury. "Shit!" He looked around wildly, looking for something, looking for a way out, seeing none. "You're going to kill me? You brought me here to shoot me, so they could find me?"

 

Taln shifted uneasily, gripped the blaster tightly, angry at himself for hesitating, angry that he'd given Luke time to gain an insight into what was about to happen, and sorry that he still had to go ahead with Dade's order. He glanced at the boy on his knees before him, raised the gun to Luke's head. "I'm sorry."

 

 

"Wait!" Luke cried, throwing up a hand. Hating this, hating begging, feeling humiliated and defeated by a man he trusted. "Not like this, not on my knees. Please."

 

Taln licked his dry lips. This was taking too long, prolonging the Rebel's agony and his own. But he nodded, put out his hands and drew Luke to his feet. The boy swayed, but stood and lifted his chin to stare Taln in the eye. In the torchlight he saw fear there, he saw strength.

 

"Don't do this, Taln," Luke spoke quietly, almost calmly. "You don't need to do this."

 

"Luke...don't..." The Resistance fighter lifted the blaster again.

 

"Don't?" Luke rasped with an abrupt surge of anger. " _You're_ telling me not to....?"

 

Taln glanced away, focused behind Luke, pulled off a shot and destroyed the seeker that had appeared around the corner. Luke fell back at the shot he had thought was intended for him and he landed hard on his tail bone, crying out at the wave of pain which blasted through his back. Taln gave him no time to recover as he took hold of his shirt and dragged him up. Lights appeared suddenly at the end of the corridor, sweeping over them and a shout went up from the first stormtrooper around the corner.

 

"You there! Stand where..."

 

Taln blasted him and didn't wait for another to take his place as he ran, hauling Luke roughly along. They moved wordlessly, Luke struggling to keep going, tripping and falling over legs and feet that stung and pierced with every step. They were only just one turn of a corner in front of the pursing soldiers. They turned again and Luke gave in to his growing desperation as he saw a blank wall, highlighted by a stream of sunlight from above. "It's a dead end!"

 

Taln heaved Luke up to standing, saw the flush on the boy's face, the hair plastered with sweat, the tears brought by pain. "You need to climb," he told him, indicating upwards.

 

Luke glanced up, saw metal rungs fastened into the rock wall, saw day light about ten metres above. "I can't," he gasped, exhausted, in pain. He couldn't do this, couldn't do as Taln asked.

 

"Get your friggin arse up the ladder, now!" Taln shouted, lifting and literally throwing Luke upwards.

 

Luke caught onto the rungs and started to climb, drawing himself up as quickly as his body would allow, feeling the surge of adrenaline, knowing it and Taln's presence were the only things keeping him going.

 

The troopers reached the corner and immediately opened fire. Taln drew off a few shots of his own before grabbing the first rung and pulling himself up to climb after Luke. Blaster bolts thudded into the rock under them, next to them. "Move! Move!"

 

Luke did, closed his eyes and climbed, pulling his strength from the very dregs of his stamina. He ignored the spasms in his back, the stabbing pain from his rib cage, the ache of his ankle. He quelled his fears and focused on one thing; moving hand over hand, grasping rung after rung until he was pushing a metal grid to the side and pulling himself into sunlight, grabbing onto grass and dragging himself out of the hole.

 

There was more blaster fire from below. A red bolt of light shot out from the opening and there was a scream of fright from nearby. Luke glanced around to see that he had emerged from the ground into parkland, and that there were people nearby enjoying the peace of a sunny, late afternoon. He turned back to the hole as Taln was drawing himself out.

He reached forward, offering Taln his hand. There was a sudden blast of light from below the Resistance fighter and Taln stiffened, grunted, a look of horror and pain crossing his features. Luke reached for him as he was struck again, body jolting from the force of the shot.

 

"Go!" Taln told him, blood bubbling from his mouth. Then he fell back into the darkness. His body landing below with an audible thud.

 

"No!" Luke yelled, horrified.

 

"Hey! Hey you!" a voice called out anxiously. "What are you doing there?"

 

Luke turned saw a young man looking his way.

 

"Over here! He's over here!“ Another voice cried.

 

Luke saw the white armour of more troopers running over the rise of a small ornamental bridge. A woman with a child was pointing in his direction. He could hear the clanging of metal from the hole in the ground and knew that the soldiers from below were nearing him. He scrambled up, fell, pushed back up and staggered on, running over dew damp turf towards a monolith which rose, granite grey, from the grass around it. It was a statue of the Emperor, rising up to dominate the surrounding park, arms spread wide in a gesture of dominance. More laser bolts sang through the air around him.

 

His feet hit the gravel path that lead to the steps around the statute. There was another shot from behind him, the bolt cutting a hole in the folded rock of the Emperor's robes. He could hear the pursuing soldiers, hear their boots crunching through the stones as they closed the distance on him.

 

"Take him down!"

 

He was shoved from behind, pushed by a tremendous heat hitting his upper right shoulder. It pitched him forward, twisted him around and he dropped onto the steps of the statue, shouting out from the sudden intense pain of the laser burn. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to retain his consciousness, trying to keep his wits about him, opened them to see a shuttle pass overhead through the wispy clouds and across the blue of the sky. Then the shuttle and the sky was blocked from his view by the first stormtrooper to reach him, by the white armour and the black gun pointed at his head.

 

"Don't move, scum."

 

He was grabbed by the shirt, dragged off the steps and thrown onto the gravel path at the feet of the troopers' comrades. Ignoring his injuries, his sharp cries of agony, they turned him onto his belly, kicked his legs wide and spread his arms. They searched him roughly, removing the small pill bottle from his pocket.

 

His arms were brought behind his back and cuffed tightly despite the blaster burn. He struggled and protested as his boots were removed from his feet. They knelt on him, knocking the breath from him, cracking his healing ribs, holding him down as cool metal fetters encircled his ankles. He struggled more, but could not move, felt as though he was suffocating from their weight, from their armoured knees cutting into his muscles, from the barbed chips of stone digging into his face. Suffocating from the sheer horror of his situation.

 

"You are under arrest on suspicion of treason..."

 

As the toneless voice spoke, he was hauled back to his feet, whooping in a gasp of air as the pressure was relieved. A shadow passed overhead and he heard the waning throb of a shuttle's engines as it landed. And then he was being dragged towards its opening maw.

 

He was lost, severely hurt, absolutely terrified and he knew, this time, there would be no Resistance, no Network to save him. His feet trailed on the steep ramp of the shuttle as they carried him up, and Luke could see no way to escape, no way to avoid what was happening. No way out. Caught in absolute hopelessness, overwhelmed by panic, Luke's mind gave him some moments of relief.

 

He was unconscious even before they dumped him on floor of the passenger compartment.

ooOOoo


	2. Network Part Two

 

Artoo plugged himself into the terminal access port, scanning through and picking up the communications relay. He hummed quietly as he searched. Every day he had done this - being careful to use a different access point - and every day he had picked up some interesting pieces of information; computer access codes, names of personnel, numbers of troopers stationed on Escaal, size of the Navy fleet circling the system, the plans for the redevelopment of the weapons production plant. And, every day he had been happily satisfied that his young master was still safe.

 

He shifted through the general messages, shunted aside daily reports, and shrieked with horror at the verbal announcement he picked up over the com relays.

 

"We have him."

ooOOoo

         

He drew the black jacket back on, tugged down its hem, straightening the creases from the fabric. He hadn't been home long when the call came requesting that he return to the prison. He'd only had the chance to take the jacket off, mix himself a soft drink, open a packet of cooked meat to rustle up a quick sandwich when his com had chimed in the silence of his apartment. He was told of the chase in the tunnels, how the troopers were close to catching two suspects and that he was being recalled to duty.

 

Dade placed his cap back on and, knowing it would be a while before he was able to return home should Taln and the Rebel be taken alive, he tossed the meat in the garbage disposal before closing the door behind him.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Ayrn could barely contain his satisfaction and relief as he stood in the prison courtyard waiting for the shuttle to arrive with the prisoner. He rocked impatiently on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, a smug smile creasing his lips as he searched the evening sky for the craft. He blinked and turned away as the floodlights of the yard suddenly activated in response to the ebbing daylight. The lights threw the sheer black metallic walls of the buildings around him into joyless relief. He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him and his smile became a grin as Major Rhovan and two prison guards approached.

 

"Come to take possession?" Ayrn asked, buoyantly.

 

Rhovan smiled at the man's mood as the Shuttle appeared overhead, its wings folding as it began to descend. "Who have we got, do we know?"

 

The smile faltered a little. "One was killed, one injured. We're not sure which is which. But I'm convinced that at least one of them was the Rebel pilot."

 

The shuttle touched down, the ramp lowering.

 

Rhovan nodded ahead, gesturing toward the ship, returning Ayrn's gaze to the still empty ramp. "Well, it's my job to find out, isn't it?" he said grimly.

 ooOOoo

 

The first thing Luke was aware of was a minute vibration rattling against his cheekbone from the cool floor upon which he lay. The next was the pain, which seemed to cover his entire frame. His shoulder burned intensely bringing sharp tears to his eyes; his lower back gnawed and grated; his ribs ached; his ankle throbbed; his face felt gritty and sore.

 

He was tired, so very tired. His body felt dull and heavy, as though he had no energy, no strength to move or protest at the discomfort he was in. He forced his eyes open, saw a pair of white boots a few centimetres from his head and with a terrible clarity he remembered what had happened. He could feel the cruel, solid binders bite into his wrists and the shackles around his ankles, knew the vibration he felt was the thrumming engines of an Imperial shuttle craft and he knew he was in an appalling situation, one that would result in his eventual death.

 

He lay still, fighting his suffering, compelling himself to remain silent and not give vent to his feelings. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact he was awake, didn't want to give these troopers an excuse to harm him further, knowing he would need to conserve whatever strength he had left. He flicked a dry tongue over his dry lips as the shuttle shuddered gently on touch down and the resonance against his face stilled. The troopers around him began to move. Armoured hands grabbed at him, clenched his upper arms and pulled him up. Pain burst from the blast wound as it ruptured and he yelled aloud, feeling a warm wetness trickle down his back. His legs faltered, but their hands held him.

 

"On your feet."

 

A surge of temper swept through him at the order, a wild anger that set his jaw and gave him strength. He drew himself as straight as he could and walked as well as he could, the short length of thin chain between the bangles on his ankles making it more difficult. He limped, hobbled toward the exit, his anger growing at this humiliation, his deliberate degradation. Then he saw the incline of the ramp, the gradient that he had to manoeuvre down and his anger dissolved into abrupt panic. He hesitated; he would never make it down like this, it was too steep, the shackles alone would...

 

"Move!"

 

He was shoved and he fell, rolled and skidded to the bottom of the slope. He lay panting: trying to gather himself, trying to quieten his fear, trying to fight the pain, the nausea which pushed at his throat, trying to find his anger again to get him through this. Boots clattered around him and he was heaved upwards, forced forwards and for the first time he saw his welcoming party waiting by an open door. Two officers: one in black, one in grey and two more black garbed guards. He lowered his head, focused on his feet and moved forward with the troopers.

 

Rhovan watched, gathering first impressions, as the prisoner was brought closer. He was young, small, dirty and dusty. He was limping badly, was obviously seriously injured and in pain. The Major found himself wondering how he was managing to stay conscious let alone be able to walk.

 

Ayrn chuckled beside him. "Doesn't look like much does he. All that fuss for..." he gestured with disdain at the shuffling youth. "...that."

 

"Looks can be deceiving, Ayrn," Rhovan warned. He turned to his own personnel. "Take him to..."

         

Another shuttle glided overhead, lowered into the courtyard beside the first and even before the ramp had fully lowered the large frame of General Mahkren was clearly visible as he limped from his personal craft. Rhovan groaned. This was not a good idea, but he knew that the General would not be dissuaded from confronting the young man who may be responsible for his son's death.

 

He sighed. He would have to try. His priority at the moment was his prisoner's welfare. He stepped forward.

 

"General, Sir, this may not be the..."

 

"Is this him?" Mahkren swept passed him, his tone one of simmering anger and grief. He headed straight for the captive. "Is this the piece of trash that has caused chaos in this city?"

 

"We're still waiting on that confirmation, Sir," Ayrn supplied, springing to his superior's side. "Another was killed as they tried to escape."

 

Mahkren grabbed the prisoner's hair, yanked his head up and regarded him with open hatred. The youth struggled a little but Rhovan's guards moved in and held him. The General studied the dirty, bloodied and scratched face for a moment his expression unreadable, then he dropped his hand, wiped his palm clean against his trouser leg. He frowned, his eyes narrowing and he reached out again and touched the torn and filthy, blue shirt the captive wore. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers. "This is my son's shirt," he observed, quietly.

 

Luke kept his head down, stared away, suddenly understanding that this was the System Commander in whose home he had been hidden, whose home was now a pile of rubble. This was a man he did not wish to anger further.

 

"My dead son."

 

Luke knew then, more than at any other time, that he was truly lost. "I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing he should not speak, that it went against the training the Alliance had given him for captive situations, but he could not help but express his sorrow. Sorrow for the deaths that had occurred because of him, sorrow for this father who had lost a son, sorrow that he was in this mess.

 

"Sorry," Mahkren echoed tonelessly. He dropped his hand and turned away, walked towards the waiting stormtroopers.

 

Rhovan sighed a breath of relief and motioned for the guards to remove the prisoner.

 

"Wait," the General ordered and he reached forward, taking a blaster from the nearest trooper.

 

Rhovan stepped forward, reacting from sudden realisation. "Sir...."

 

Mahkren held his hand up, silencing his Primary Interrogator. He held the blaster by the muzzle with both hands, then gave an abrupt roar, spun on his heels and smashed the butt of the weapon into the side of the prisoner's head.

 

Luke had been aware of very little. He knew something was happening, could feel the tension of the moment, the uncertainty. He heard the howl of anger, caught a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. There was an eruption of light, a brief kaleidoscope of raining colours and then he was plunged into darkness.

         

The boy dropped soundlessly to the ground and Mahkren raised the blaster above his head, but Rhovan caught hold of it before he could bludgeon the prone figure again. "General, Sir," he spoke softly, sympathetically. "We need him alive."

 

The General wilted and seemed to shrink into his grief. He nodded and relinquished the gun to the Major. Then he turned and walked back toward his waiting shuttle.

 

Rhovan tossed the gun back to the storm trooper then he knelt by his prisoner. He felt at the neck looking for a pulse and smiled when he found it, throbbing strongly. He turned the boy's head wincing at the bloody gash at the hairline, at the swelling around the eye and cheekbone. This one was going to be very sorry when he woke up and discovered his headache. He picked at the hem of the filthy blue shirt, drew it up and noted the back brace fastened around the lower torso.

 

"Well that's one less question you need to ask," Ayrn observed, with a smile. "Looks like we have our pilot."

 

"Looks like," Rhovan agreed. He stood, nodded at his staff. "Take him below and call a medic down. I need him assessed."

 

"Yes, Sir."

 

"Ayrn," Rhovan said while watching his men carry the Rebel toward the waiting turbo lift. "Please make sure the General gets..." he broke off. He was about to say 'home', except the General's home no longer existed. He shrugged, looking across to where the shuttle waited. "You know what I mean."

 

"Off course," Ayrn nodded ~~,~~ then followed Mahkren into the ship, still smiling with his success.

         

Rhovan waited until both the trooper's shuttle and the General's had lifted off, until the courtyard floodlights dimmed and died, leaving the area deathly black. Then he turned and followed the path his staff had taken to the maximum security cell block below.

 

 ooOOoo

 

He found this place peaceful. It gave him solace, helped him focus his mind, calm his thoughts and feelings which had become unsettled of late, disturbed. He closed his eyes and, if he had been physically able to, he would have drawn in a deep breath and slowly exhaled in an effort to still his heaving emotions, his desire to be elsewhere. Darth Vader's black-gloved fingers curled around the balustrade of the balcony and he opened his eyes to stare out at the city beyond: so peaceful, despite the traffic above and below, so alluring with its lights glimmering in the darkness of night: the city had always helped calm him when he was troubled. Although his vision of it now was so much different due to the ocular imaging of his mask, and his view of the Galaxy, it’s worlds and it’s people where now only like things and figures enhanced by a macrobinocular.

 

But the lights still flickered on Coruscant and they still held their attraction as did the darkness surrounding them.

 

Light from within darkness was an intriguing concept for him. It had become an obsession, a need to know, to understand. Was it possible for light to come from darkness? And did light always succumb to dusk: always relent to nightfall? Or was it the other way around? It was a question that had frustrated him, gnawed at the trailing edge of his mind, ever since...

 

_"He went completely the other way."_

 

The annoyed words from another life rose so abruptly that they shook him. And they appeared to serve no purpose here, no sense of relevance to his previous thoughts. An arbitrary memory thrown up to remind him of his past, a past that, more and more, he felt was catching up on him.

 

It had been almost two years since Obi-Wan Kenobi had reappeared aboard the Death Star. Reappeared, died, and in doing so revealed a long hidden treasure, one that had been stolen so many years before. One that he had compelled himself to forget, just as he had forced himself to forget who he was, what he had wanted to be. That past belonged to another man, no... to a youth who had wanted too much, desired too much and had ultimately lost everything.

 

_"It would destroy us."_

 

His words, but it had been Padme's warning. And she had been right. The youth's love had destroyed all, and yet it had also created.

 

The boy's shout of horror and denial at Kenobi's death had come with a swift surge of outrage, rippling outward from within the Force. The power of it had stunned him and it had taken him many hours of solitary contemplation during his journey from Yavin, after the battle, to realise that the shout and surge had come from the same person. The very person whose presence he had felt from the X-Wing that had bobbed and weaved before his gun sights during the battle, and whose life he had been unable to take.

 

It had not been difficult to trace Kenobi's steps. The freighter on the Death Star had already been reported to Tarkin and himself as coming from Mos Eisley. Tatooine. He had demanded further reports from the troopers assigned there and had learned of the deaths of his stepbrother and his wife; had learned of a boy who had lived there and who had not yet been located. A boy whose name was Skywalker.

 

The youth on the Death Star, the pilot of the X-Wing, was his own son!  The child he had believed he had killed in the womb when he had throttled the life from Padme had somehow survived.

 

It was so obvious now, so clear, and he wondered why he had never considered the possibility before. His son had been hidden in plain sight. Obi-Wan had used his own arrogance against him and had secreted his child away on a planet which he now considered beneath him, with a family he had chosen to ignore, at place that meant nothing but pain and grief to him. And yet, the boy was clearly untrained. He was strong in the Force, but his talents were barely realised, his potential untapped and unrecognised, easy prey for a skilled hunter.

 

Or so he had thought.

 

The boy had eluded him. His presence in the Force had waxed and waned like an ocean wave: there, then gone. He had difficulty grasping onto him, difficulty locating him and then keeping him in focus. It was frustrating and infuriating, as were times like these when the Emperor called him to his side, only to make him wait at His pleasure.

 

"My Lord Vader?"

 

Darth Vader turned from the lights of Coruscant and regarded the robed Imperial courtier with impassive loathing.

 

"The Emperor will see you now."

 

Pushing all thoughts of his son from his mind lest his master sense them, the Dark Lord strode past the snivelling man, bearing him no further thought and headed purposefully toward the throne room. The double doors swept open before him and he entered the darkened chamber, dipping to his knee at the foot of the royal seat.

 

"What is thy bidding, my master?" he rumbled the oft spoken question, trying to quell his impatience.

 

Sidious leaned forward, regarding his servant with hooded eyes. He had been aware of Vader's trailing thoughts, had been aware for a while of the allure that the boy held for him. The child's innocence and light drew Vader to him, his very presence was like a beacon to the Dark Lord. However, the boy meant nothing to Him, the brat was untrained, untested, and did not pose a threat. That he was potentially talented was obvious, but he was certainly not an enemy to be feared despite his outrageous success at Yavin. It was time to bring Vader's focus back to other matters and put his burgeoning obsession with the youth to rest.

 

He had foreseen it.

 

"It has come to my attention that there is unrest on Escaal."

 

"I am aware of the reports, Master," Vader informed him. "The local authorities are handling the situation."

 

"Are they, indeed?" the Emperor drawled, sitting back. "The weapons development programme destroyed by a Rebel bombing raid, the shipping lanes closed, Imperial troops searching Imperial homes. And now, I hear the System Commander's own son has been killed by a terrorist bomb."

 

"Unfortunate," Vader noted. He wanted to reach out and touch his master's mind, his feelings, wanted to know why he was being questioned on such a petty incident.

 

"Most unfortunate, my Lord Vader, that these events have come to My attention. Most unfortunate that these events were not contained within the local system.”

 

He paused, then stated with some emphasis. "And all this chaos caused by one Rebel pilot."

 

"Yes, Master."

 

The Emperor hesitated once more before speaking, a thin smile appearing on his lips. "Interesting that one man could cause so much inconvenience," he noted. "Since you have  
shown an interest of late in captured Rebels, you will go to Escaal, my friend. Route out this pilot, and make an example of him. Draw the local forces into line."

 

Vader bowed his head lower. "Yes, my master," he complied, rising to his feet and turning to leave, accepting his Emperor's command without verbal questions, but his mind was riddled with them. He was eager to open himself to the Force, to search into its dark folds for the significance of this Rebel, his feelings heaving with a confusing blend of anticipation, disappointment and animosity. This mission was beneath him; he was no longer an errand boy to be sent away on the whim of the Emperor to sort out petty local squabbles and difficulties - that had been the duty of a Jedi, not a Sith lord.

 

And yet, there was a sense of... something here; an expectation. Could it be possible that this Rebel would lead him to his son? Or - he quickened his pace, the Force thrumming through him with sudden agitation - was it possible that the pilot was his son?

 

He swept from the Emperor's chamber, passing the lackey by the door. "Have my ship prepared for departure."

 

Sidious watched as the doors closed behind Vader and he chuckled low in his throat as he sensed his servant's sudden thoughts and feelings. Young Skywalker was callow, undisciplined and weakened by the Jedi's neglect of him. He nothing compared to the powerful youth who had sired him and Vader was going to be sorely displeased by his child's lack of ability, and once he had dispensed with the boy, reeled in any errant fatherly instincts, Vader would indeed be fully his once more.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Murmuring voices, buzzing in his ears sending waves of pain crashing through his skull. Odd words, strange accents. Hands on his arms, sickening movements. Flickers of light with snap shot pictures. A black floor. Blood drips. Black boots. Then darkness again.

 

Lights in his eyes, bright, lancing. His head throbbed. A hand touching his face, rolling his head sideways. Nausea. Flat coldness beneath him. Arms trapped. More voices, louder. Echoing.

 

"... consciousness..."

 

"...burn..."

 

"...damage..."

 

A brief sting to his upper arm. Hands on him, fingers digging into his muscles. Movement. Up. Flaring agony. Nothing.

 

 

The Primary Interrogator watched as his prisoner was carried through to a holding cell. He turned to the medic who had finished her exam. "How long before he'll be fit for questioning?"

 

The woman shrugged, looked to her med-pad read out. "He's had a severe blow to the head, Major. His concussion alone may take several weeks to clear properly. His blaster wound isn't immediately life threatening, but it needs bacta treatment. He has compression damage to his spine. It had been healing but the tissue is swollen and his ribs have been cr..."

 

Rhovan sighed, interrupting her. "How long?"

 

"When he's able to keep awake," she told him sharply, clearly not liking this part of her job. She shifted her feet on the floor, betraying her discomfort. "I've given him a shot of a strong antibiotic in case the burn becomes infected. Keep an eye on him. At any sign of a high temperature please alert me. You don't want him dying of blood poisoning before you break him, do you?"

 

"May I remind you, Medic, that I am a superior officer?" Rhovan responded curtly. "And that the prisoner is a Rebel. No matter how you may feel about my duties, my rank demands respect, the boy does not."

 

She paled visibly. "I... I'm sorry, Sir, I meant no disrespect."

 

He waved her away. "You may go."

 

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

 

Rhovan watched her go, knowing that should he need a medic in future it would not be her. He turned, catching the eye of the Duty Officer at the computer terminals opposite the elevator shaft. "Observe the Rebel. When he wakes, keep him awake and alert me."

 

"Yes, Sir," the guard responded, immediately activating the monitors. The picture showed the prisoner lying, bound hand and foot, on the floor of the tiny cell, still clearly unconscious. As the guards who had carried the boy to his cell entered the reception area, Rhovan turned and withdrew to his private office area.

 ooOOoo

 

Artoo Detoo detached himself from the computer access port. He had downloaded the schematics of the city, pin pointed where the prison was located, and was now determined to make his way there. He hummed purposefully to himself as he rolled around the corridors of Imperial Headquarters towards the exit.

 ooOOoo

 

Dade leaned back into his chair. Closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to fight off his impending headache. Perhaps he should have asked the medic for some painkillers before she left the cellblock. He was tired, grieved at Taln's loss, concerned about the boy now in custody, about the youth's ability to withstand questioning, concerned about how much he knew about the Network, how much Taln had explained to him.

 

The boy should have been terminated. Taln had disobeyed a direct order and he had died for it, a pointless sacrifice considering where the youth now was. Now the boy would suffer - was suffering - the consequences and he knew that he might have to risk exposing himself to protect the knowledge the Rebel may carry.

 

If the chance presented itself, he would have to kill the pilot himself.

 

 ooOOoo

His head was pounding, thudding heavily with each beat of his heart. He could almost hear the pain as well as feel it, a thrumming pulse rattling his eardrums sending shock waves through his tender brain. He was becoming aware of other feelings: a strangeness about his face, a stickiness, a crust about his eye; an intense throbbing heat about his shoulder, piercing needles in his chest, back and legs. And it was cold, a chill so sharp his feet and hands were numb, his muscles trembling with uncontrollable shudders. Each spasm hurt, sending new convulsions through his body.

 

Luke opened his eyes. "Ah!"

 

And shut them. The light was blinding sending a searing agony through his head. His stomach tossed, rolled. A sweet, viscous taste flooded his mouth as nausea rose in his throat. He groaned, fought the feeling, tried to move, realised he was lying on his side, tried to move his arms to push himself up, but they were stuck fast behind his back. He pulled, moved his wrists, realised they were tightly bound. He shifted his legs trying to get some leverage to sit up, but his feet caught, solid fetters biting his ankles. He lay back panting, gasping, fighting the surge of pain which threatened to erupt in his head. His senses reeled. His stomach lurched. His mouth filled and he turned back onto his side and vomited. The force of the retching racking his body further as bile and fluid spattered onto the floor.

 

He sucked saliva into his mouth and spat, coughed, tried to move away from the vile puddle. Braving the light he opened his eyes again, squinting, and saw black walls, a black floor marked by blood and vomit where he had lain, the ceiling a bank of cold, blazing lights.

 

Freezing water flooded from above, drenching him. He cried out in sudden fright and confusion, soon finding himself lying in a pool several centimetres deep. There was strange smell, astringent, pungent and his skin tingled, his eyes burned. It got in his mouth and he realised the water was full of a cleaning agent. He spat again as the deluge suddenly stopped, as the water began to leak away into a small drain set into the floor, washing away his blood and sickness.

 

Soaking wet, with violent tremors shaking his body, he tried to move, tried to keep his wits about him, fought to keep from giving into the pain, tried to get a better view of what this place was. The space in which he lay was tiny: barely a metre wide, less than two metres in length.

 

But how had he got here? Where was here? He remembered...

 

What?

 

Running... He had been running and.... and there was pain, like now, but not as bad. There was someone else with him...

 

Han? No, not Han.... There had been a mission, he fell, he....

 

Stormtroopers! There had been troopers! But not...

 

Flashes of memories flickered in his mind. A Twi'lek. A simple cot in a sparse room. Taln! He had been running with Taln! He had tried to kill him, and then...

 

"No." He moaned, shivered, muscles cramping in their attempts to keep his body warm.

 

He remembered. The tunnels. The flight through them. He remembered climbing into the park; he remembered the statute of the Emperor. The stormtroopers and... a large, heavily bearded man glaring at him, A man who wore the uniform of an Imperial General.

 

Not everything was clear yet, random fragmented images, jumbled together in his aching head, some things fogged and forgotten. But there was one thing that was very clear, which caused fright to nestle deep within him; he was a prisoner of the Empire and what future he had would be short and bleak. He drew his knees up, attempted to curl into ball to conserve body heat.

 

A door opened at his head and hands grabbed him, dragged him out into a corridor. He yelled in agony and alarm, tried to fight, to struggle. Two men had him armlocked between them. They held him up, drew him deeper down the walkway. Another door opened and a scream wailed from beyond, startling him. It closed and he was carried on. They stopped, turned him and panic beat from within as his guards took him through a different entrance.

 

Was this it? Was this where the torture would start?

 

They dropped him, allowing him to hit the floor with a cry. The door closed after them and he was plunged into darkness. Alone.

 

Gritting his teeth, fighting a swell of dizziness, he tried to wrestle around, tried to get into a more comfortable sitting position. He managed to sit up, leaned his back against a wall, legs stretched out before him. He inclined his head, attempted to see through the darkness. There was nothing, but this room felt just as small as the last, and there was relief as his previous panic subsided. This was only another holding cell, and not the torture chamber he had expected.

 

He closed his eyes against the gloom and mentally took stock of his physical condition. His shoulder felt hot, a blistering pain which seared through him with every movement and which beat intensely even when he rested.

 

He'd been shot, he remembered now, the laser bolt scorching his shoulder. He'd fallen, fallen at the feet of the Emperor. He grimaced at the thought, at the symbolism, but the movement hurt his face, his head. Though he couldn't recall it, he was sure something had hit him, was sure he had a wound that even now trickled warm blood down the side of his swollen cheek. He shifted his buttocks carefully on the floor trying to get more comfortable. His ribs still ached as did his ankles and wrists. The latter, stuck behind his back, felt abraded and raw.

 

So much for ejecting planet side...

 

It had only delayed the inevitable. If only he'd ejected in space. They'd have picked him up sooner, but he would have been fitter, better able to withstand their interrogation methods, better able to fight against them. If only he had stayed in his fighter, stayed in it and died as it exploded, then he wouldn't be in this position, in this darkened cubicle waiting for torture, more pain and questions.

 

He swallowed hard, tried to bring spit into his mouth but he was dry, thirsty. The last time he'd had a drink was when he'd taken his last dose of painkillers, before the run through the tunnels, before Taln had...

 

He lowered his head at the memory. The Network had wanted him dead. His rescuers had known this was coming, had known capture was inevitable. They had tried to kill him to save their own. But now Taln was dead and he was here, their plans had backfired and he alone was left to pay the consequences. The small consolation was that the Imperials didn't seem to know who he was.

 

He smiled. If he could get through this without revealing his identity he would have won at least something, stolen from them the opportunity to make an example of the pilot who had destroyed the Death Star. A small victory over the man who had killed his father and his mentor and who had taken a personal interest in him. He remembered the satisfaction he had felt when his identity was revealed, when Leia told him of Vader's attention in the son of Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi hero of the Clone Wars. Satisfaction that the Dark Lord knew that the son of the man he had callously murdered had gained some revenge. This satisfaction had grown as time and again he had dodged Vader's forces, had struck blow after blow against the Empire. Until now.

 

There was no satisfaction here and he had the feeling he was about to learn a painful lesson in humility. His fear began to rise again, stomach knotting tightly. What would they do? What would they ask? What methods had they planned for him? He was injured, hurting badly. They would make use of that. Cause pain where pain already existed.

 

He groaned. He couldn't do this. He couldn't go through with this, he had to find another way. There had to be another way.

 

Didn't there?

 

_Tough shit, Skywalker. You're in this. You're doing this. You don't have any choice_ **.**

 

The biting sarcasm of his inner mind drew him up and he pulled himself back from the despair he had been so ready to tumble into. He was allowing them to get to him. He was doing what they wanted. He had to get a grip, control his thoughts, his feelings. He forced himself to relax, heaved in deep, calming breaths trying to control his physical pain, ease his mental anguish. His headache had lessened slightly. The darkness and warmth of this new place had helped to settle the throb. Gingerly, he allowed himself to slide sideways down the wall until he lay once more on his side. He willed sleep to come, knowing that if he could rest and...

 

A cool breeze fell on him from above and he looked up, shivered as heat lifted from his still damp clothes. Lights suddenly glared, slicing through his eyes, pain exploding in his head. Water cascaded down, an icy blast stinging his already sensitive skin. He coughed, spluttered, cried in bitter frustration and wretchedness. He had been right earlier; this was it. This was where the torture started.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Rhovan, standing behind the seated officer, watched the monitor with interest. "He's scheduled for questioning at oh one hundred hours tomorrow. Move him every hour until then, sooner if he's falling asleep. Make sure he knows which door leads to the interrogation suite."

 

"Yes, Sir."

 ooOOoo

 

It was raining, the droplets coming down in sheets of water, bouncing several centimetres off the ground, off the landspeeders and the beings who ran for cover at the down pour. Artoo Detoo huddled into a corner by a cantina along with two other droids who were waiting for their owners to emerge. It wasn't that the rain bothered him, he just didn't want to appear too conspicuous trundling along by himself when others took shelter. Besides, he also had to conserve his energy levels, find out where he could top up on his power, before heading off towards the prison again. He turned his dome, whistled out a question to the astromech droid beside him, and a musical conversation was struck up.

 

ooOOoo

 

They were moving him again. He had lost count of the times they had done this. As always, after another soaking the door to the tiny cell had opened and he was hauled out by the legs. He had stopped struggling a while ago, had come to realise that resistance only weakened him further, aggravated his injuries and made him more susceptible to despondency. He let them move him now, let them manhandle him without a fight and in doing so protected his strength. They carried him along the corridor, neared the door he had heard the screaming coming from during previous cell moves. It opened again, and this time he was carried through and down.

 

Trepidation shivered along his spine, and he stiffened with reluctance as he understood where they were taking him. His guards' grasps tightened on his arms as they responded to his reaction. He wanted to shout out, wanted to struggle and fight, wanted to be able to turn and run. But he swallowed his fright and went along with them. It would do him no good to give in to his feelings now. His eyes darted around the large room taking in its panelled black walls, the one straight-backed metal chair placed in the centre and the man sitting in it.

 

Luke was taken around the Imperial and stood before him with the guards still flanking either side. He felt himself sway, shifted his feet trying to find balance, not wanting to fall, not wanting to show any sign of weakness than was already physically apparent. He avoided looking directly at the man, but he saw the dark uniform, the polished boots and the clear bottle of water the man held. He fixed his eye on the floor under the chair and waited in silence.

 

Rhovan let the silence continue, let the tension thicken for the Rebel as he studied him. He was small, slightly hunched in his stance favouring his back and ribs. His hair and clothes were still wet from his many showers and he was trembling badly, shuddering with cold, with shock and fright. His face was bruised, left eye and cheek swollen. He hadn't slept for over thirty hours, he'd been disoriented by all the moves, kept cold, damp and uncomfortable. He'd had nothing to eat or drink and was clearly exhausted and still in pain from his injuries.

 

The Major leaned forward. "Hello, Luke."

 

Luke started at use of his name, almost met the man's gaze, horrified that they knew him. What did this mean? Did this mean Vader was coming? How had they identified him? He closed his eyes, trying to think, fighting to keep calm.

 

Then he remembered Taln's annoyance when he had tried to introduce himself to them; to Taln and the Doc. Hadn't the Doc been captured? That was it! They'd got it from the Doc, the same as they had got his hiding place.

 

Rhovan had watched the reaction and seen the shock at the mention of his name. He watched as the boy battled with himself, and then as he relaxed as he worked out where his name had come from. The initial response was interesting.

 

"Or should I call you 'Lieutenant-Commander'?"

 

Now that had come from his flight suit.

 

"Remove his binders," Rhovan told his men.

 

It was a relief to be rid of the metal restraints from both his wrists and ankles. He brought his arms forward, wincing as the movement aggravated his blaster burn on his shoulder. Gingerly, he rubbed at his bruised and blood scabbed wrists with his hands. A guard leaned forward and stopped him, forced his hands down by his side. Luke complied.

 

"I have some water for you."

 

The major held the bottle out to him. Luke didn't move, didn't look at the bottle. He swallowed dryly.

 

"It's clean, fresh. Not full of cleansers like the cell showers. You haven't had a drink for a while, Luke." Rhovan's voice was soft, cajoling.

 

Luke kept his eyes on the floor, thoughts loose and disorganised. His headache pounded. There would be a catch for the water. If he took it they would want something in return.

 

Rhovan opened the container and took a drink. "See? Tastes good. Would you like some?" He held the bottle out to Luke once more.

 

Luke couldn't help but lick his parched lips. He tried to swallow again, gagging a little.

 

"I'm offering you water, Luke." There was a tinge of warning in his voice now, a little concern too. "You'll need it. Surely your Rebel instructors told you to take whatever was on offer when you were trained on how to resist interrogation?"

 

He was right, they had. Take water, take food, take rest where you can find it.

 

Luke reached out and took the bottle. He drank quickly, upending the container, spilling some over the sides of his mouth in his urgency to relieve his thirst. A guard stepped forward and snatched the bottle away before it was emptied, handing it back to the Major who placed it on the floor next to the leg of his chair. Luke's hands were pushed back to his side.

 

Rhovan regarded him briefly. These early exchanges were tests, an opportunity for him to assess the boy, to consider how the interrogation was going to go. It was also the time where he demonstrated his control to the prisoner, let him know exactly who was calling the shots and what would happen should his demands not be complied with. "Take the shirt off."

 

A coldness sank through Luke, his stomach knotted tightly. He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to expose himself to these people, didn't want to leave himself open and naked. He remained still and did nothing.

 

"Take the shirt off," Rhovan repeated, watching the Rebel's reaction, unsurprised by the passive resistance. There were not many beings that would willingly strip for their captors. "Luke, listen," he explained firmly, leaving no room for debate on the matter. "The shirt's damp and must be uncomfortable. And it isn't even yours. Take it off, or my guards will do it for you."

 

Luke heard the threat and knew that he couldn't afford to be subjected to further hurt. He knew that he could disobey only so far before he angered them. Sense dictated that he did as they said, even if he hated it. Hesitantly he raised his hands and with trembling fingers he undid the shirt fastenings and drew it off. The fabric stuck on his blaster burn and he experienced a fleeting moment of dread before it peeled away taking with it some of the crusting scab. He stifled a cry, took a stumbling step forward to stabilise himself and was drawn back by the guards. Warm blood trickled down his shoulder blade.

 

Rhovan watched with dispassionate interest as the Rebel righted himself and drew in a few steadying breaths. The boy blinked rapidly and the Major was unsure if he was fighting to keep his consciousness or fighting back tears.

 

"Now hand it to me."

 

Luke dropped it onto the floor. ~~~~

The interrogator's mouth turned down with anger. He was uncertain if the disobedience had been deliberate or if it was due to the boy's physical condition, but he had to assert his control over the youth. He stood, a full head higher than his prisoner, and bent down trying to catch Luke's eye. "Pick it up," he ordered.

 

Luke wasn't exactly sure why he had dropped the shirt. There had been a brief burst of twisted anger and he'd suddenly wanted to show them he still had a mind of his own. It had been a moment of madness, and although he was going to regret it very soon, he didn't regret it now.

 

"Pick it up."

 

 _I can't bend down!_ Luke wanted to scream at him.

 

They were asking him to do something he couldn't. They were setting him up, knowing he couldn't comply even if he wanted to and among his fear the anger returned, a quiet fury began to simmer. He was grabbed by the nape of his neck, and the interrogator stepped back as the guard behind him pushed him down. Pain wrenched through his back and his chest, and he yelled aloud as he was forced to his knees. His hand was taken and the shirt pressed into his palm. Knowing he had no choice, Luke closed his fingers around the fabric and they hauled him back up.

 

His legs folded again, the room spun hazily and he was scared that he was going to vomit. They held him up, kicked his legs back under him and he struggled to keep his balance against the pain.

 

"Now, hand it to me," Rhovan instructed again.

 

Luke held his arm out towards the officer, aware that he was shaking, shivering and hating himself for being unable to control the tremors.

 

Rhovan took the shirt and dropped it on the floor. He turned and sat back down. "Take the pants off."

 

He was sure the boy's eyes widened. He saw a slight flush colour the paleness of his face, but the quivering hands undid the fastenings and pushed the garment over his hips. The pants dropped to the floor and the Rebel, with some difficulty, stepped out of them.

 

"Take the brace off him."

 

Luke stood, shuddering in the black undershorts Isla had found for him, as the guards undid the clasps on the brace and lifted it off him. They tossed it into his pile of clothes. The Imperial rose and walked around him and Luke stiffened waiting for the order to remove his underwear.

 

Rhovan circled his prisoner, taking in his physical condition, noting the bruising mottling his torso, the clear imprint of a stormtrooper's knee on the back of his thigh, the angry, weeping burn and the effort it was taking the boy just to remain on his feet. Then he sat again while Luke stood.

 

"You're in a lot of pain," he stated softly.

 

Relief washed through Luke, relief he wasn't to be fully exposed.

 

Rhovan smiled at the obvious reaction on the youth's face. He was in a dreadful physical condition and yet he could still be bashful. Still so very young. "Your injuries are serious. You must be in a lot of discomfort," he noted, injecting concern into his voice.

 

Luke wished he'd just asked his questions, instead of stating the obvious, instead of reminding him of how he felt. Ask them, and get it done with instead of prolonging it, drawing out this appalling anticipation.

 

Rhovan shifted onto one buttock, fished in his pocket and withdrew a small container. He held it up for Luke to see. "Taken from your pocket on your arrest. Your medication, I believe," he shook the tiny bottle and the pills inside rattled. "These are good, strong. I could allow you to have a couple, ease your pain a little."

 

He watched Luke, waited for a reaction. He got none. "Tell me about your Resistance contacts. Tell me who gave the Rebellion the information about the weapons production."

 

Luke stared at the floor, stared at the shadow of the chair in which the man sat. He gave no reply.

 

"Look at me, Luke," Rhovan requested softly, ducking his head down to see Luke's face and saw his eyes flit to the side away from him. He rose from the chair to stand before the youth. He bent down again, his cheek almost against Luke's. "Look at me, Luke," he commanded sternly, injecting tones of anger into his voice.

 

Still Luke refused to meet his gaze.

 

"Look at me!" the Interrogator suddenly shouted. He smiled when the Rebel flinched, his eyes meeting Rhovan's in a reflex action. He moved back, holding the younger man's gaze. "Your Resistance contacts, Luke. You had to get the information from somewhere. Tell me, and you can have some pain medication. And perhaps a medic to tend to that blast wound."

 

Luke turned his head away. Rhovan nodded to one of the guards at Luke's side as he moved back. The guard punched Luke in the lower back. He yelled, fell to the floor and was harshly hauled back up. He had trouble finding his feet. He retched, choked on the pain that flared along his spine. The guards held him upright as he heaved and gasped.

 

Rhovan turned from him and placed the small bottle of pills on the chair. "Give him some time to think." Then he marched from the room without another word.

 

The guards carried Luke to the far wall of the room, stopping him a pace away from it. They leaned him forward and spread his arms wide above his head. His hands were placed palm down against the dark, metallic surface. They kicked his legs apart and, when satisfied that he wasn't simply going to keel over, they moved off positioning themselves behind him.

 

And Luke was left with no illusion as to their expectations; he was to remain in this posture until they said otherwise.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Artoo Detoo came to a stop outside the prison gates and wailed in dismay at the massive, solid construction. He scanned the area, looked for a droid access port, for a panel with which he could activate the gate. But nothing showed up on his sensors. He tooted solemnly, moving off slowly along the high wall, following it as it cut a dark path through the centre of the city.

 

 ooOOoo

 

The Dark Lord of The Sith was aware of the increase in tension among the bridge crew of the Executor as he walked toward the waiting Admiral. He smiled grimly behind his mask. There was a rare sense of gratification to be had when other's so blatantly feared you.

 

"We are prepared to depart, Lord Vader. All stations report ready."

 

"Not before time, Admiral Ozzel," Vader noted, frustrated by the length of time it had taken for his ship to be re-supplied. "Set course for the Escaal system."

 

"Yes, Mi' Lord," Ozzel bowed briefly and turned to his Captain, relaying his own orders.

 

Vader turned to the view port, and to the stars, watching, feeling the tug shiver through the massive ship as they streaked into hyperspace. It was much like the pull his son had on him, unsettling, yet welcome. Soon, very soon, his son would be his and he wished that Obi-Wan were still alive to witness the failure of his feeble attempts to keep father and son apart.

 

"How long to Escaal?" he questioned.

 

"Three days, Mi'Lord at current velocity," Ozzel informed him.

 

Vader quelled his impatience. Even he could not manipulate hyperspace. "Very well, alert me on approach."

 

"As you wish, Mi'Lord," Ozzel bowed his head again as Vader turned and strode away, relieved to have the Dark Lord off his bridge.

 

"My Lord Vader!" a Junior Officer called from his station, and Vader stopped.

 

"What is it?"

 

"A communicate from Escaal. They have the Rebel pilot."

 

"Excellent," Vader acknowledged, aware that the message could be hours, if not days, old given the vastness of space. He opened his mind, searched out his son's presence. Sensing nothing, he deepened his search, gathered the Force around him, and...

 

Pain. Fear. Despair. Determination. Fury...

 

Thrilled by the darkness he found there, Vader reached for the feelings, reached out to touch…

 

"Luke?"

and...

 

_No!_

The boy recoiled from him, and was then wrenched from him. The youth's tenuous grip on the Force severed. The contact had confirmed for him that the captured pilot was indeed his son, but his situation was difficult. He addressed the young officer. "Send word they may question him as they see fit, but he is not to be allowed to die." He swept from the bridge exhilarated by the meagre contact.

 

"Yes, My Lord," the junior office replied to the Dark Lord's retreating back.

 

 

 ooOOoo

The door to his private office sliced open and Rhovan turned from the monitor screen on his desk, forcing a smile as Ayrn sauntered in carrying a small data pad. He suspected the Major enjoyed visiting the detention centre, suspected that he took a sick delight in viewing the pain and suffering inflicted on others.

 

"What can I do for you, Ayrn?" he asked, leaning back into his chair.

 

Ayrn grinned. "Just wondering what you'd got from him. The General is anxious to know." He spun the monitor toward himself, his smile growing at the sight of the Rebel spread in a stress position against a wall. Muted gasps came from the speakers as the youth expressed his exertion. "How long has he been like that?"

 

Rhovan ignored the last question, though he was quietly impressed by the Rebel's stamina. He had seen men in the prime of their fitness last less time in a stress position than this injured boy, but he was not about to divulge any information to Ayrn. "The General knows my methods, Ayrn," he explained. "Despite what has happened, he knows better than to ask for results this early. Why are you really here?"

 

The Major's smile turned devious. "We've received some interesting news, so I did some digging on your Rebel. Thought you might like to hear what I found."

 

He tossed the data pad to his counterpart then gave a running commentary as Rhovan scrolled through it. "I put your pilot's description and first name through the data base on Rebel suspects. There were several "Lukes", lots of blond haired, blue-eyed idealists. But only a few known pilots who fitted his description, and only one of them is named Luke."

 

"He might not be in the data base, Ayrn," Rhovan told him, glancing up from the pad. "We don't know every member of the Alliance."

 

"Look at the name I highlighted."

 

Rhovan looked down, eyes widening in surprise. "Skywalker? That's the pilot Lord Vader has shown an interest in."

 

"Your pilot fits his description perfectly," Ayrn announced, looking pleased with his discovery.

 

Rhovan read on. "It says here Skywalker's from Tatooine. That he carries a lightsaber and has Jedi abilities. Levitation, un-natural displays of strength. Mind control?" he finished with astonishment. He gestured to the monitor, voice thick with scepticism. "The pilot was completely unarmed when arrested and has shown no such skills."

 

Although he was still on his feet when he had no real business being so.

 

"Lord Vader is on his way as we speak."

 

"What?" Rhovan looked shaken at the news. "You've alerted him without solid proof?" This had to be the most foolish act Ayrn had even taken in his attempt to climb the Imperial ranks.

 

Ayrn shook his head. "No, apparently he was on route just as we caught the Rebel. Got me thinking about why the Dark Lord would becoming here."

 

"Perhaps because of the weapons plant? Perhaps because of the closed supply lines and shipping lanes? Perhaps because of the terrorist activities?" Rhovan threw back at him, enjoying the fleeting look of fear which passed over Ayrn's thin face - after all he had been in command of the search for the Resistance and the Rebel. Rhovan handed the pad back to the soldier.

 

"There's more on it," Ayrn told him. Then he explained. "The Resistance operative with the boy has been identified as Giltaln Forel."

 

Rhovan frowned, leaning forward to take the data pad again. Then glanced up in surprise. "The architect?"

 

"Didn't he design your prison facilities?"

 

"Yes," Rhovan responded, tightly. "I considered him an associate."

 

"As did I, and the General, " Ayrn added, with some contempt and disgust in his tones. "It makes one wonder who else may be involved with the Resistance."

 

Rhovan shrugged, handing the data pad back to Ayrn. "Well, his betrayal hasn't..."

         

A cry emanated from the monitor catching their attention. Rhovan glanced at the screen. The Rebel had fallen and his guards were trying to reposition him without much success.

 

"Duty calls?" Ayrn suggested, smirking.

 

Rhovan switched the monitor off, stood and tugged down the jacket of his uniform. He had to get in there quickly before his guards lost their patience and beat the boy to a silent pulp. "So it seems," he answered laconically. "And what of yours?"

 

Ayrn glanced at him sharply, eyes narrowing in resentment of the reminder. "I'm doing mine," he stated, curtly. "I thought my information might help with the interrogation."

 

The Primary Interrogator sighed, smiled and shook his head. Ayrn had the petted lip of a toddler. "I'm sorry, my friend. I have had as little sleep as our young guest and I am eager for this business to end. Tell the General I will keep him informed of my progress."

 

Aryn nodded. "Of course."

 

They exited the room together. Ayrn headed for the turbo lift and Rhovan watched him leave with envious eyes. He would much rather be headed in that direction himself, would much rather have mundane and routine duties to attend to, would much rather have any other job than the one which he was so good at. He turned and walked quickly down the cell bay toward the interrogation suite.

 

 ooOOoo

 

 

Luke had no track of time, had no sense of how long he had been maintaining the forced stance. The strain on his shoulders and back was terrible, the muscles of his upper arms becoming tight and bunched. Beads of sweat ran from his pores, making his skin slick, stealing much needed moisture from his parched body. His back cramped rhythmically, his legs felt heavy, his feet numb. The shoulder wound burned, the damaged muscles beneath compelled to work despite their hurt His whole body trembled violently.

 

He blinked sweat from his eyes, shut them against the thudding of his head. Even breathing was difficult, each intake of breath caused pain to lance through his chest from his cracked ribs.

 

He had briefly considered defying his captors. Had been tempted just to sit down and refuse to do their bidding. But he knew disobedience would have resulted in greater pain. So instead he had become determined to withstand this, to show them that no matter what they did he would not falter. They would not break him. And so his inner mantra had begun.

 

_....Stay up. Stay up. Stay up. Up. Up. Up. Up....._

With each beat of his heart, each throb in his head the words repeated until they were all he thought of, until they had become his entire centre and the pain from his body faded from focus, became dim and fuzzy like an ill remembered memory. His ragged breathing slowed as a peculiar sense of calm descended, it was almost like...

 

_Let go your conscious self..._

 

…and there was an open expanse before him. Quiet and still. Nothing...but something...a sense of...power...strength and energy. It was raw, unused and...he could see his guards, smiling behind him and a coil of anger twisted in his stomach, the expanse around him grew dark. They were laughing at him, enjoying his pain and...

 

There was something else. Someone else was watching with him. He looked around but could see nothing in the blackness now, could hear no one, felt...

 

Someone reached for him. A cold touch...

 

_"Luke?"_

 

"No!" he cried flinching back, terrified by the voice from within, the crawling feel of another in his mind. He fled from the violating presence, from the corruption he felt, the longing he sensed among the darkness. The agony of his body swamped him, the horror of his situation flooded back. Confused by what had happened, overwhelmed by pain, Luke's legs folded beneath him and he crumpled onto the floor.

 

He received no respite as the guards seized his arms and he was pulled upright.

 

"Get up!"

 

He hung in their grasp, exhausted, unable to move. They shoved him to the wall, knocked his feet apart trying to force him to stand, but he slid down. They cursed him, yanked him up...

 

"Stand! Put your arms out!" the barked orders were tight with anger and irritation. "Put your hands out!"

 

But he couldn't, his legs wouldn't hold him, his arms wouldn't obey him. His thoughts were in disarray a blend of the real, the remembered and the imagined. His consciousness slipped between the three.

 

The guards pulled at him, their hands slipping on his slick skin, fists driving into his side. Then Taln was grabbing him and throwing him upwards towards the ladder, his hands trying to grasp the rungs. Then he was in the dark expanse, and the presence was there; deeply shadowed and threatening. Looming over him, reaching out for him and he was trying to get away, trying to run...

 

"Stop that!" Rhovan barked as soon as the door to the interrogation room opened and he saw that his staff  were beating the prisoner, as he had known they would. He stepped down as the two men moved back leaving the Rebel groaning on the floor. The Major lifted the pill bottle from the chair and the water from the floor. "Sit him down."

 

The guards picked the boy up and sat him on the chair. The Rebel, barely conscious, slipped down and the guards had to hold him by the shoulders to keep him from falling off.

 

"Luke?" Rhovan questioned, watching for a reaction. "Luke, look at me."

 

Luke could barely hear the words through the white noise in his ears, the droning of his headache. He had difficulty understanding them through the haze in his mind, difficulty focusing on what was being asked. Everything felt surreal, dreamlike, and he had trouble trying to work out what was happening.

 

"Look at me, Luke."

 

He tried to open his eyes, tried to lift his head, but it was too big, too heavy. He smiled at this thought; at the mental image of a large head lolling around on his shoulders.

 

Rhovan frowned at the smile, uncertain of its origins, concerned for his prisoner's mental state. He nodded to one of the guards who placed his hand under the Rebel's chin and lifted his head. The Major studied the battered features, listened to the quick breathing and the quiet moans of distress. "Open your eyes, Luke."

 

Luke had to concentrate hard, had to force his eyelids to work. He saw light, saw a blurry figure in front of him. He blinked rapidly fighting to clear his sight, trying to bring things into focus, trying to clear the clouds from his brain, trying to stay awake.

 

Rhovan handed the bottled water to his guard. "Give him some."

 

His head was tilted, cool wetness hit his lips, washed over his tongue. It felt good, tasted better. He coughed, choked and drank, feeling some trickle from his mouth down his neck and chest. Then it was gone, and he licked his lips hoping to catch a last few drops. The water brought some clarity to his mind and he opened his eyes to see the Primary Interrogator watching him closely.

 

"Do you know where you are?"

 

Luke tried to nod, realised his head was being held. "Ye..." his throat clogged and he clear it. "Yes."

 

Rhovan hid his smile at the verbal reply. This was progress. The Rebel's resistance had been worn down by the fatigue of sleep deprivation, by the stress stance, by the pain of his injuries. He was sick, confused and would be more pliable, more open to suggestion. "You're tired, Luke. Still in pain. You could have your painkillers. I could have you taken to a cell with a bunk where you could rest and sleep."

 

He looked at the guard still holding Luke's chin. "Let him go."

 

Then he crouched down next to the chair holding the Rebel's gaze, showed him the bottle of pills. "I could get your wounds tended, get you something to eat, more water. But you have to talk to me, Luke. You have to tell me about the Resistance."

 

Luke looked away from the man. "'Nothing...to tell," he whispered, hoarsely.

 

 A guard behind lifted his hand from the Rebel's shoulder, but Rhovan shook his head, and he placed it back, pulling Luke further upright.

 

Rhovan stood up and took a few paces away from the prisoner. The Rebel's answers were interesting. He was not responding with the normal name, rank and number, which military prisoners would repeat and repeat. It became their focus, their defence against the pressure and stresses placed on them.

 

_If you knew the Dark Lord of the Sith had taken a personal interest in you, would you give away your identity so easily?_

 

Perhaps this boy was Skywalker.

 

"The man you were with has been identified as Giltaln Forel," Rhovan continued. "He's dead and it is you who has been left to pay for the actions of the Resistance."

 

"Bill...me."

 

He received a blow to the head from behind, the impact lancing through his skull from the back to the front. He squeezed his eyes shut against the hammering thud, against the dizziness that surged over him, the nausea that rolled in his belly.

 

Rhovan gave him sometime to recover his senses before warning him. "Luke, smart answers will only bring more pain..."

 

"...Grounded," Luke broke in, wincing still. Picturing his Uncle Owen giving him another scolding.

 

"What?!" Rhovan barked, puzzled.

 

Luke heaved in a breath. "Sm...art...answers...get you...grounded," he explained.

 

The Major back handed him across the jaw. Stunned, Luke slumped to the side and was caught before he could fall from the chair. The guards righted him, held him as he gagged back sickness, as he struggled against the encroaching black out. He raised a shaking hand to wipe at the dribble of blood from his lip, but a guard stopped him, pushing his hand down.

 

The Primary Interrogator stepped back massaging his knuckles, his mood angry. "Giltaln Forel," he stated as Luke opened his eyes again. "Who else did you have contact with?"

 

Luke shook his head and then regretted it as a wave of pain undulated through him, the nausea coiling in his stomach once more. He flinched, swallowing before answering. "I...don't know. Don't think...they used...their real names."

 

"Describe them."

 

"Can't."

 

"Can't, or won't?"

 

"Won't."

 

Rhovan sighed. So much for him being more pliable. The boy had more spirit than he had given him credit for. Perhaps another approached was needed.

 

"You were hidden in the System Commander's home." He paused as a slight smile coloured the Rebel's lips. "A member of his staff was apprehended. A Twi'lek female."

 

Luke's head jerked up in reaction. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach.

 

Rhovan smiled at the response. "If I understand Twi'lek anatomy correctly the tentacles are extremely sensitive..." He watched fury and horror cross the Rebel's face, saw understanding blaze within his eyes. "I could spare the female from interrogation, but only if you provide the information we require."

 

"I can't," Luke told him, desperately. They had Isla. He had hoped she had made it out. "I...don't...know what...you want!"

 

"We'll make you watch."

 

“I don't know... what you want," Luke repeated frantically, gasping. His voice betrayed his pain, his anxiety. "Even...if you hurt her...I still wouldn't know."

 

"Name all the Resistance operatives you had contact with, or describe them," Rhovan told him. "Do this and we won't harm her."

 

"I...only had contact with her, Taln and..." he trailed off.

 

Taln had thought they had captured the doctor, but how could he be sure of that. What if they had found his hiding place by other means and the doctor was still out there? He couldn't betray a man who had helped him. But, could he really sit here and watch them do this to Isla? Could he sit back in silence and let her be hurt after all she had done and sacrificed for...

 

...Isla had taken the detonator. He and Taln hadn't travelled far before the explosions shook the tunnels apart. They may have found her, they may have her, but was she alive? Were they trying to trick him?

 

"And?" Rhovan questioned.

 

"You're lying," Luke accused him evenly, with a trace of a smile. "Isla's dead, isn't she?" He met his tormentor's eyes, knowing he was about to be hit again and fighting not to cringe in anticipation.

 

The Major didn't disappoint as he backhanded Luke again, lashing his head back, knocking his teeth together. Luke spat blood from his mouth.

 

Rhovan waited until the Rebel rallied himself, until the blue eyes met his again. He nodded. "Very perceptive," he conceded, as he opened the container of Luke's painkillers. "I may have exaggerated about the Twi'lek, but I meant what I said about getting some rest. And about the food and the water, and having your wounds tended. But that offer is past."

 

He emptied the pills onto the floor and ground them under his heel. "Perhaps you need more time to think?"

 

Luke blanched with consternation, recalling what had happened when the Imperial had given him some thinking time before. "I can't...stand." He was sure of it. His legs were blazing with pin and needles, his back hurt and his ribs hurt even while sitting. He wouldn't be able to sustain any position this time.

 

"You don't have to," Rhovan told him smoothly, turning from him. "Bring the droid."

 

A panel slid back on the far wall and from behind it floated the black sphere of an interrogation droid. Luke wasn't given time to react as the guards seized him. One grasped his left arm and locking it straight, exposing the veins of his inner arm. The other pinned his upper body to the chair. He tried to struggle, tried to fight as the droid floated closer, as the syringe fixed to it flooded with a white, creamy liquid.

 

"Back off!" Luke shouted, trying to fix his feet onto the floor to push. But he had no strength and gave himself only more pains. He closed his eyes against the droid, against what was happening. "Back off!"

 

_Let go your conscious self..._

 

..and the expanse was there, and he saw himself limp in the guard's grasps, he saw the Major watching him closely, saw the droid. And then he saw himself wrenching free, pulling his left arm from the tight grip. Saw himself throwing his hand forward towards the droid and screaming...

 

"Back off!"

 

Rhovan watched from the side as his staff held the prisoner. The droid floated closer, syringe filling with the nerve stimulant - designed to enhance pain levels while keeping a captive awake. He watched as the pilot struggled, as his movements became more frantic. Then, suddenly, the boy relaxed, eyes rolling in his head. At first, Rhovan thought the boy was taking a fit, but he abruptly twisted his arm free, threw it out at the droid and cried out.

 

The droid's momentum was sharply reversed. It flew back and smashed into the far wall, where it fell to the floor, silent and deactivated.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Darth Vader opened his eyes and stared at the white interior of his meditation chamber. There had been a vibration in the Force, a brief gust of power that had died as quickly as it had arisen. He smiled, feeling for the first time a sense of pride. His son was strong.

 ooOOoo

 

The Emperor turned from the grovelling representative of his finance committee. He had felt something; a burst of light, a brief flash of brilliance in the darkness around him. His mouth turned down in abhorrence at the sensation. Although the boy had been abandoned by the Jedi and could hardly be regarded as a threat, it would appear that young Skywalker had more potential than he had given him credit for. However, it was the effect the brat's existence was having on the Dark Lord he was most concerned about. Once Vader had satisfied his curiosity, the boy would have to be destroyed.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Luke opened his eyes in the moment of stunned silence that followed and found the Primary Interrogator staring at him with an intense curiosity. He dropped his gaze shaken by the strength of the Imperial's scrutiny, shaken more by the feelings that had suddenly rushed through him, by the power he had used to send the droid spinning. But it was gone now, leaving him a little giddy, empty and afraid of what he had done, afraid of what was about to be done to him.

 

"Replace his restraints," Rhovan ordered as he stepped over to the droid.

 

He had never seen anything like this, never experienced a machine malfunction so violently, and he suspected that the Rebel was to blame. Once again he gave consideration to the idea that this was indeed Vader's Rebel pilot. This required more investigation, but for now there were some lessons to learn. He stooped down and removed the syringe from its fixing. It was unbroken, still full.

 

Luke allowed them to bind him without a fight, wincing as the cool metal shackles were replaced around his ankles, as his wrists were tied before him by the slim, solid cuffs that bit tightly into his skin .

 

"Drop the cable."

 

A thin metal cable fell from the ceiling in front of Luke and Rhovan paused allowing Luke to see the corded duristeel, the clamp on the end.

 

"Shit," Luke breathed softly, refusing to utter a denial, a plea for leniency as he realised what they were going to do. "Shit...shit..."

 

"Hoist him!" Rhovan barked.

 

The cabled was fixed around the solid bar between the callous bangles on his wrists. The slack was taken up, the line tightened and he was lifted from the chair, lifted off his feet and was left dangling several centimetres off the floor. His weight strained on his cuffed wrists - the metal rasping his skin - and on his shoulders. His back muscles cramped and he bit back a cry.

 

Rhovan handed the syringe to one of the guards. "Give it to him."

 

The needle was crudely thrust into his shoulder muscle, the plunger depressed and the drug flowed into his body. He stiffened in response, stifled another cry, then hung limply waiting for the drug to kick in, wondering what it would do, what effect it would have.

 

Rhovan stood before him. "Keep your head up, Luke," he advised. "When you're ready to talk, this will end." He turned to leave, stopped and added. "We have more than one droid."

 

The panel in the wall slid aside and a second droid drifted out. One of its appendages extended as it manoeuvred behind him and he felt something cool and metallic touch the skin on the small of his back lightly. At the same time he became aware of his body reacting to the drug as it filtered through his tissues into his blood stream. He was more awake, more aware. The discomfort from his wounds suddenly intensified and his back clenched as he arched against the growing agony. A groan escaped him and his head drooped.

 

A blast of pain hit him from behind as the droid sent a surge of energy through his spine. He screamed as he convulsed. It ended, and a guard lifted his head. Through the blur of tears he saw Rhovan standing before him.

 

"Keep your head up, Luke," the man repeated, then he walked past him with the guards, and the door closed leaving Luke hanging, alone, with the droid.

 

 

"Sir!" a voice called as Rhovan strode for the Turbo lifts.

 

"What is it?" he asked, turning back to the officer stationed in the reception, annoyed at being stopped. He was eager to leave this place, eager to travel up a few levels to the courtyard, to his speeder, eager to feel the sun on his face.

 

"A communication from Lord Vader."

 

"Does he say when he will arrive?" He needed more time with the Rebel before the Dark Lord took him.

 

"No, Sir," the guard apologised. "Though he states that we may question the Rebel as appropriate, but he is not to be allowed to die."

 

Rhovan glanced at the monitor screen, at the youth gently swinging from the ceiling. "Then observe him closely. Should his condition change take him down, call a medic and alert me immediately."

 

"Yes, Sir."

 

The Major turned from the screen, but his eye caught a small black sphere lying on the floor in the corner of the picture. "When he is removed from the suite have maintenance brought down to check the droids. We don't want a repeat of what happened." Although he had a feeling the maintenance techs would find nothing a miss with the droids. He turned and entered the waiting turbo lift not giving the man time to acknowledge his orders.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Artoo had followed the wall all the way around and was now back at the only entrance to the prison complex. He sat tooting softly in despair, wondering how he was going to get in to find out what was happening to his young master, when the gates opened and a landspeeder drove slowly out into the traffic of the city. As the gates gradually closed over Artoo Detoo slipped in, and found himself faced by a detachment of stromtroopers and another gate.

 

"You droid, what are you doing?" the lead soldier barked, taken aback by the appearance of the small blue astro droid.

 

Artoo scanned the area and trundled over to the access port he found. He plugged himself in and entered one of the security access codes he had discovered while trawling through the central computer in the Imperial Headquarters. The second gate opened, and Artoo tooted an explanation to the troopers while he moved toward the court yard beyond.

 

The trooper shrugged, not understanding what the droid was saying, but it possessed the access code so it must have legitimate business within the compound. He turned away, not giving the little machine a second thought.

 

 ooOOoo

 

A light flurry of sleet was falling over the moor as Dade pulled the speeder to a stop. The clouds were grey and heavy. The wind tossed the grass and he was thankful to be warm within the canopy of the vehicle. He stared out, past the tiny flecks of snow that clung to the plexi-glass for precious seconds before melting, stared out at the huge rock that jutted out of the ground a few metres away.

 

This is where they had picked up the Rebel, rescued him in plain sight by a simple plan. This is where they, perhaps, should have shot him immediately, sparing lives, sparing him the agony he now suffered due to his refusal to answer a few simple questions. And, at that moment, Dade hoped he could last a little longer, until he could return to the prison and figure out what to do now.

 

Now that the Dark Lord was on his way, now that they had strict orders the Rebel was not to die. It was a complication he could have done without.

 

A strong gust of wind shook the speeder drawing him from his thoughts and he popped the canopy, braving the sleet and the growing storm. He splashed through the wet grass toward the rock, still not sure why he was here, what he hoped to find.

 

No, that was a lie, he knew exactly what he was looking for and why. He was here to verify the Rebel's identity. He was here because he was sure that when he had been sitting in the cab of the trooper carrier coming over the brow of the hill, with the lights highlighting the pilot against the granite of the rock, he had seen the boy push something behind him.

 

He crouched down at the spot where the pilot had been sitting and worked his hand under a jutting lip of rock. His fingers brushed something hard and cylindrical. He pushed his hand in further, taking a hold of the object and he drew it out. He wiped the mud from it carefully, held it by the handgrip and pointed it away from himself before pressing the activation stud.

 

He jumped as a blue white laser blade grew from the handle. He deactivated it, not liking the feel of it, and returned to his speeder. He tossed the lightsaber onto the passenger seat.

 

Skywalker.

 

The youth was not to die, and yet the pilot held information he, Dade, needed to protect.

 

He keyed his com. "What is the prisoner's status?"

 

"The droid's administered another dose, Sir."

 

"Any sign of submission?"

 

"No, Sir, but he's been taking more shocks."

 

The boy was weakening. He needed to buy some time. "No-one goes to him, until I arrive, even if he breaks. Am I clear?"

 

"Yes, Sir."

 

 Network Commander Dade - or as the Imperial Army knew him; Primary Interrogator Major Erwin Rhovan - switched the com off. He gunned the speeders' engine and turned the vehicle back toward the city.

 ooOOoo

 

Artoo Detoo plugged into the droid computer access port in what looked like a mess hall for the Prison Officers. He surfed through the system looking for any mention of his young master. He tried to enter the network for Maximum Security but was firmly rebuffed.

 

Beeping softly he input another code he had picked up while at Imperial Headquarters. Information spilled forth immediately and he screeched in dismay at what he learned, at who he saw was on his way, at what he saw had been done to his master. And Artoo understood at that moment that it was only he who could help Luke.

 

 But how?

 

 ooOOoo

 

The bolt of energy exploded through Luke's nerve endings. His body curved into a stiffened arch in response and he screamed again through raw vocal cords. He struggled to lift his head, but the effort of keeping it up and straight was becoming nearly impossible as his reserves of strength failed him. The current stopped and he gasped, each breath ending in a soft expression of his discomfort. He stared forward, kept his chin up, knowing it wouldn't be long before he could hold it no longer and was again subjected to a powerful electroshock.

         

He had tried to find the Force again, if that was what he had tapped into before, if that was what the expanse he had found in his mind represented. But there was nothing, no matter how much he had tried to grasp with his feelings he felt nothing. Nothing but pain enveloping his whole being, nothing but the twisting of already tightened muscles, nothing but the cold crawling of a white drug through his veins that seeped and dripped onto tired nerves, waking them to sear and burn with renewed intensity. There was no Force, no expanse. There was only light, and heat, and cold, and suffering.

 

He could end it himself. He could shout out, tell them he would talk to them, tell them he would give the names they wanted. Except he didn't know any names, didn't know anyone in the Resistance other than those they already knew about. Didn't know...

 

..but he did. He knew one more, both Taln and the Doc had mentioned another name, someone from whom they received their orders...

 

Dade.

 

He could tell them that name, tell them he was the Resistance Commander, but he had nothing to give after that. If he broke and told them the name they would only start asking about the Alliance. And he knew so much more about that, and so much more would be lost...

 

He groaned in despair. He dropped his head. He screamed.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Rhovan shouldered a small backpack as he stepped from the turbo lift into the cell block. After leaving the moors he had gone to his apartment and showered and changed before returning to duty. He felt fresher, felt more at peace with himself since he had made his decision concerning Skywalker. It hadn't been a difficult decision after all. With Vader speeding his way to Escaal and with so much to lose he really had no other course of action.

 

He stepped over to the reception and glanced at the computer terminal before speaking to the Duty Officer stationed there. "How's he doing?"

 

The guard shrugged as he looked at the picture on the monitor. The pilot was screaming again. "Still holding on, sir." There was a touch of admiration in the man's voice.

 

"Then perhaps a slightly different approach is needed." Rhovan spoke almost absently, frowning as he thought. "Deactivate the cell's observation and recording systems. I want to speak with him privately." There was a trace of a threat in his tones.

 

The officer smiled at the request. The Major could be ruthless. It was after such a private meeting that the doctor had died. "Yes, Sir."

 

"And take a break," Rhovan suggested.

 

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

 

Rhovan turned and headed for the Interrogation suite. He palmed open the door and stepped down as the screaming faded into soft hitches of breath. The Major walked around the suspended figure, taking in the fresh pattern of bruising caused by the beating he had received from the guards when he fell; the discoloured swelling and abrasions on his face. Blood seeped from his wrists and trickled down his arms to his torso from where the binders cruelly gouged into his flesh, his hands and fingers deep purple and swollen. The blaster burn still leaked fluids. The boy's eyes were closed tightly, beads of sweat gathering and running from his brow. He looked flushed and Rhovan suspected he was running a mild temperature, the antibiotics he had received on his arrival having now left his system.

 

Rhovan took the chair and placed it before Luke. He turned to the droid as he dropped his bag. "Stand down."

 

The droid backed off as Rhovan took a bottle of water from the back pack. It moved into a corner and hovered there, waiting.

 

"Fly by."

 

Luke wasn't sure if he had heard the words; wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks, if the drugs and the pain were making him delusional. He was sure he had heard Taln speak. He tried to move position, tried to pull himself up on the binders to ease the cramping of his muscles but only succeeded in causing more blood to swell and spill over the metal cuffs.

 

He swung gently.

 

Rhovan stood in front of Luke. Now that the Rebel was suspended, his head was only just above the Major's eye level. "Fly by," he repeated, watching Luke for a reaction as he screwed the cap off the bottle.

 

Luke's eyes fluttered open. He saw Rhovan and shut them again as the pain closed in, as he realised the questioning would start again.

 

Then he felt cool water on his lips.

 

"Drink," a voice told him. "It's glucose water. You need it."

 

So he drank. It was cool, it was sweet and disgusting, but he drank because the voice was right. He opened his eyes again as the water was removed. He saw the Major again. He swallowed, waited, flinched as his muscles constricted with the effects of the drug.

 

The Major moved back a little. "Fly by," he said for a third time.

 

This time the word made sense. Taln had said only someone from the Resistance would know that was the code word for him. But the Major wasn't Resistance.

 

He must have found it out and was trying to use it against him, using it to try to prise him open, get him to answer their questions through trickery. "Wo...won't...work," he told the Imperial, weakly.

 

Rhovan smiled at Luke's tenacity. "I don't have much time, Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker."

 

"Shit," Luke groaned. They knew him. They had found him out. He dipped his head in defeat. Then he stiffened and brought his head back up, fearful of the droid. He looked bewildered when no current was applied.

 

"The droid has been stood down," Rhovan explained. He sat on the chair and looked up at Luke. "I need to know what Taln told you, Luke."

 

"No..thing..."

 

Then he realised the man had used 'Taln' and not 'Giltaln'. And suddenly he wasn't sure what was happening here.

 

Rhovan saw Luke's confusion and lifted his bag, taking out another of its contents. He held the cleaned cylinder in front of Luke's face. "Your lightsaber," he told the boy needlessly, and he saw horror behind the eyes, the disappointment and failure. As he continued, though, he began to see understanding and hope grow.

 

"I saw you hide something as we approached you in the troop carrier on the moor. So I knew where to look. I sat beside you. I shot the Imperial officer and asked if you were injured. You asked me if I was an Imperial and I told you..."

 

"That...would.." Luke swallowed again, clearing his throat, feeling renewed strength rise from within. "...be telling," he finished as the Major placed the saber back into the bag.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Ayrn stepped into the reception of the cellblock and was surprised to find it empty of personnel. The computer terminal, the communications and monitoring systems were all quiet. At first suspicious, Ayrn placed his hand over his holstered side arm as he worked his way around the console to where the Duty Officer was normally stationed. He sat down in the empty chair, wondering if Rhovan knew his staff left their posts when he was not on duty and rather enjoying the prospect of having to tell him.

 

He reactivated the screens and the recording systems and grinned as he noticed Rhovan alone in the cell with the Rebel pilot. He turned the sound system up a little and relaxed back. He had always wondered about these private chats Rhovan had with prisoners, what magic he worked to break them, or to kill them, come the next questioning session.

 

"I am the Resistance Commander," Rhovan was saying gently, quite friendly, and Ayrn sat up, suddenly even more interested.

 

"I know your code word because I gave it to you." Rhovan continued. "I know Giltaln's Resistance name because he was my friend."

 

 ooOOoo

 

Completely still, and plugged into the prison computer system, Artoo twittered in surprise at the Imperial's words to his young master.

 

 ooOOoo

"You're… Dade?" Luke asked, hoarsely and with some disbelief. The man who had lead the Resistance in his initial rescue was now the same man responsible for his torture. It was confusing; it was unthinkable. And if it was an elaborate ruse he's just fallen for it. "No...you..'re...lying," he accused.

 

Rhovan held the water bottle for Luke to drink again. "No, Luke. No lies. Too much depends on this. I need to know what Taln told you about the Network. He was a good man, but his mouth could get the better of him."

 

Luke shook his head. It was still fuzzy, buzzing, but for the first time since he had been brought here he felt a little hope. "Nothing," he repeated, staring at Rhovan trying to gauge the man, trying to measure the truth of the situation. The Major seemed genuine, seemed sincere. But how could he trust the man who ordered him to be pumped full of drugs and hung like a piece of meat?  "Nothing..."

 

“I’m sorry about this, Luke,“ the Major apologised, recognising the Rebel’s dilemma. Knowing Luke needed to be convinced further. "I'm sorry this had to happen. I had hoped to spare you this when I ordered Taln to kill you."

 

At last Luke believed him fully. "He tried..." he said, flatly. "But...he got… interrupted."

 

"What did he tell you, Luke?"

 

"Nothing, really. A… little about...the tunnels. A little… about his family."

 

"What about the operatives who passed the information about the weapon's development to the Alliance?"

 

Luke's thoughts were growing hazy. Exhaustion was tumbling in. He felt strange, a little disassociated and it was becoming difficult to keep his eyes open and his mind clear. He found the beckoning darkness seductive. "Nothing..."

 

"Your briefing before the attack?" Rhovan suggested, seeing Luke begin to struggle. The drug was wearing off. "Were you told anything at your mission briefing?"

 

"No...no…I …wasn't Squa…squad Leader... Ju…ust Second."

 

Satisfied, Rhovan returned to the chair and sat down. His expression was grave, sombre. He felt he owed Luke the truth; felt the boy should know what was coming. "Darth Vader is on his way here. For you."

 

The words sliced through Luke's fatigue with an awful understanding, chilling him. Horrified, he looked  at Dade and, getting no reaction from the man, he glanced up at his hands and saw for the first time their colour, the blood running from his wrists streaking his skin.

 

Why had Dade left him hanging here?

 

More than a little panicked he struggled futilely against the bonds. "I need… to… get out of here..."

 

"Don't, Luke," Rhovan advised, gently, as he watched fresh blood rise from beneath the binders and dribble down the boy's arms. "Don't struggle."

 

"Then… you have to get me… down! Get me… out of here!" His voice broke, scraped and rattled through his raw vocal cords.

 

"I can't," Rhovan told him, softly.

 

"Wha...?" The word was torn by desperation before it was fully uttered. "No.. Dade. Please...Get me down!"

 

Rhovan was painfully aware that this was the first time the Rebel had uttered any kind of plea. "I'm sorry, Luke. Before I handed you over, I had to be sure you couldn't betray the Network."

 

Luke shook with fury, with fear, with an awful understanding. "I'll… give them you!" he rasped.

 

"And I'll slap you down, and call you insolent," Rhovan retorted, quickly. "You have already shown an ability for back chat. Who would believe you?" He turned away, lifted the bag and walked past Luke, heading for the exit. "Droid, resume programme!"

 

The black sphere left the corner, its syringe filling as it approached Luke.

 

"No! You can't......leave me like this! Please… please!"

 

The shouts of denial seemed to ricochet in the room and Rhovan turned to watch as Luke was injected again. The droid returned to its position behind the prisoner, one of its appendages extending to touch the boy's back. As Rhovan stepped up to the door, as it opened, he heard the quiet discharge of energy and the accompanying wail of pain.

 

The door closed behind him, muffling Luke's suffering. He heaved in a breath of recycled air. At least the Network was safe and the boy could be handed to Vader without endangering any more of his operatives.

 

He started down the corridor, but as he neared the reception area he could hear the cries and yells from the cell echo at the Duty Officer's station. He quickened his pace, concerned that someone had over heard his conversation with the Rebel.

 

His footsteps faltered, the blood draining from his face when he saw Ayrn sitting in the Duty Officer's chair facing him.

 

"I have to hand it to you, Rhovan. You're good." The Major was relaxed, smiling.

 

Rhovan frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully, heart hammering, beginning to feel a little claustrophobic.

 

"What do I mean?" He gestured at the screen where the youth writhed and screamed at the end of a line. "Look at him! I think you've broken him! That was a stroke of genius, making him believe you were the Resistance Commander! Giving him so much hope and then just snatching it all away! Just brilliant! What was that name you got?"

 

"Dade..." Rhovan told him, coolly, trying not to let his relief show. Ayrn had completely misunderstood what he had seen and heard.

 

Ayrn stood, still grinning. "Well, it's not much. But it's a start, more than we've ever had before on the Resistance leader."

 

"They don't use their real names, Ayrn. It may be a useless search," Rhovan suggested. The boy in the cell was still screaming, body jerking with multiple shocks. Luke wasn't even trying to hold his head up, had given up trying to avoid the pain. Rhovan feared that Ayrn was right about him being broken.

 

"Nonsense!" Ayrn disagreed brightly. "I'll just bring in everyone who has that name or similar... send the more likely ones to you." He was walking toward the turbo lifts. "The General will be pleased with the progress when I tell him. Sheer genius!" And he was gone.

 

Rhovan keyed the com on the console desk. "Return to your post," he told his duty officer. "Take the prisoner down and place him in a holding cell until Lord Vader's arrival. Have his conditioned assessed again by a medic."

 

"Yes, sir!" a tinny voice responded.

 

Still carrying his bag, Rhovan entered his private office. As the door closed behind him he undid the top   fastening of his jacket, loosening the collar. He tossed the bag on his desk and threw himself into his chair.

 

He had a lot to do. He would have to alert the differing Network Section Commanders that the name "Dade" was compromised, alert them that new arrests where about to begin but reassure them that they were safe. They would wait until Vader was gone, until the fuss over the Rebel attack, the search for the Pilot and his arrest had died down. Then they would rebuild and regroup. And he would have to think of a new code word for himself.

 

He activated his computer screen, called up the interior of the Interrogation Suite and watched as his personnel took the prisoner down and carried him from the room. He shut it off and slouched in his chair. He would be glad to see this episode end, would be glad to see either Vader terminating the boy or taking him away from Escaal. This whole debacle had been a painful learning experience for him; he had lost good friends, he had underestimated even Mahkren's desire for revenge and Ayrn's resolve to see a job done. Never would he aid the Alliance again in such a way. The risks were just too great for both organisations.

 

He sighed with some remorse. It was a shame about the boy. Luke had proven to be quite courageous. He possessed a stamina Rhovan had not seen in more mature men, and he had refused to yield no matter what was thrown at him.

 

But he, like Taln, Isla and the doc, was a casualty of war and Rhovan could live with that. He rubbed his face with his hands, directing his thoughts towards other matters. Very soon Ayrn would be filling his cells with suspected Resistance Leaders and he had to prepare for them.

 ooOOoo

 

He lay on his back on the floor of the cell unable to move, unable to sleep because of the drug still working in his system, eyes shut against the glare of the lights above him. He could only lie, and breath, and feel, as his muscles cramped and contorted in response to jangled messages sent from over stimulated nerves. His swollen and bound hands, lay above his head, burning as blood reworked its way into the veins and arteries. Now that his weight was off them, they throbbed in time with his heart beat. As did one thought.

 

_Vader._

 

_Vader is coming. Coming for me…_

 

_Coming for me!_

 

He grunted in a breath, choking back a cry as pain purled through his back in a gentle wave and he tried to anticipate it, tried to straighten to alleviate it. But he had no strength, no reserves on which to draw. He lay still, allowing the swell to crest, to break and wash over him. He shivered, a cold sweat rising from his brow. The sweet water Dade had given him rose to urge at his throat. With some effort he swallowed it back, knowing he couldn't afford to vomit, not lying as he was, not when his body cried out for sustenance.

         

_Vader._

 

All his dreams, all his hopes of one day being able to face the Dark Lord - to stand before him and tell him whose son he was, to face him as a Jedi Knight, to take him and his Empire down - were dashed. Crushed. Now he would be dragged to the Dark Lord, beaten down and unable to stand and confront him as the Jedi he had aspired to be.

 

He laughed, the sound cracked and bleak. His brief dream of becoming a Jedi Knight had died with Ben Kenobi, had been shattered by Vader almost two years earlier when Vader had killed the old man and had thus killed the only man who could have told him more about his father, his background and where he had come from. It seemed that from the very moment he learned of Vader's name the man had taken away from him everything he had. Vader's troopers had killed his aunt and uncle and destroyed his home. Vader had killed his father. Vader had killed Kenobi. And now Vader was coming here. For him.

 

Thanks to Dade. Thanks to a man who should be helping him instead of betraying him. Is this how his father had felt when Vader turned on him? Had his father known hope in the darkest of places, only to have it plucked from him in the cruellest of manners?

 

Despair wrapped itself around him like a serpent, crushing him, squeezing him. He wanted to sleep; he wanted to lose himself in the darkness that the drug was keeping just beyond his reach. He had tried to find it while still suspended, had tried to find at least some transient relief by refusing to lift his head, allowing the droid to shock him, taking the torture in the hope of using it as a gateway to peace.

 

But the drug was strong, and they had taken him down and brought him to this place leaving him to become a victim to his own mind, his own thoughts and emotions. And somehow, this was worse. And maybe that was the intention.

 

The door to the cell sliced open, but he didn't dare open his eyes. He heard boots step down heard a voice.

 

"Lift him from the floor. Put him on the bunk."

 

His arms were taken and he was drawn across the floor, lifted up and laid upon a surface that was just as hard as the floor.

 

"Do you think we could have the lights lowered to a level where I won't burn out my eyes when I try to examine him?" the same voice questioned dryly. "Thanks."

 

Curiosity got the better of his pain and Luke opened his eyes as the lights dimmed to a tolerable radiance. He saw three men; two guards standing by the doorway, and kneeling by his bunk was a medic with a mop of red hair. He frowned in recognition; it was the medic who had field treated him when the Network had picked him up.

 

"Taken quite a beating hasn't he?" The medic spoke to the guards, shooting Luke a warning glare, while cursing the duty roster that had placed him here with someone who could betray his position. He opened his med-pack and began his assessment. "How many shots of the analeptic has he had?"

 

"Three," one of the guards responded.

 

"How long since the last one?"

 

"Almost two hours."

 

"Should be almost out of his system," he said as he read Luke's bio read outs. The medic shook his head. "He's got concussion, and still you lot knock him in the head. He's fevered, blaster burn's infected. His back's a mess, if you don't lay off it he'll never walk again," he was speaking almost absently, still reading. "Don't like the look of his hands, can we take those cuffs off."

 

"We don't have orders, too. You've only to assess him Medic," a guard warned at his back.

 

"Yeah, but I need to get his temperature down, treat the infection. Else Vader'll do to you what you've done to him for letting him die." He filled a syringe with a honey coloured fluid and took Luke's hands. He hesitated, looked back at the other two men. "Well, do you want to take the chance?"

 

"Go on then," he was told, grudgingly.

 

"No," Luke whispered to the medic, grasping onto the man's words. "Let me die."

 

"Yeah, you wish, kid," the medic replied, injecting the drug, and the guards smirked behind him.

 

Luke felt the familiar cold of a sedative travel from his hand to his wrist and he was abruptly gifted the oblivion he had been seeking for several hours.

 

 ooOOoo

 

General Mahkren turned from the view screen on his office wall as a recording of the last transmission from the Executor, before it left Coruscant, finished replaying. His eyes were hooded and heavy with grief, his face grey with quiet anger. "Why wasn't I told of this earlier?" he questioned quietly.

 

"Colonel Hume felt it best not to disturb you with this, Sir, until you had returned to duty," Ayrn informed him, shifting nervously on his feet.

 

"I am the System Commander, Ayrn!" the General retorted sharply, sitting down behind his desk. "No matter what, I am to be told what is happening within my command. Especially when it concerns the Dark Lord of the Sith!" He spat the title with distaste.

 

"I understand, Sir," Ayrn agreed, pointedly. Then, in light of his success in catching the Rebel and taking advantage of the General's grief, he continued, putting some emphasis on his words. "However, the Colonel is still my superior and..."

 

The General looked at him sharply. "You never miss an opportunity do you, Ayrn?"

 

"I'm not sure I understand you, Sir," Ayrn responded smoothly.

 

"Hume may be an idiot, but he is a decent man. I would much rather have him where he is, than you."

 

Colour rose in the Major's face. Fear and anger played for space on his features, though he tried to mask them. "Sir," he began. "I think you misunderstood."

 

"I misunderstood nothing. I said before ambition is a worthy thing, that sacrifices need to be made for the Empire. But greed for position and power is not the same as ambition. I may have lost my son, Ayrn but I have not lost my sense of proportion.”

 

The General sighed and leaned back into his chair. "That is something you have yet to learn."

 

Ayrn squirmed in the silence that followed, not comprehending what was on the General's mind, not grasping why he was now out of favour, and sorely disappointed not to be considered for another promotion. He wanted to break the silence, want to reassure his commanding officer, but he did not have the nerve.

 

Mahkren swept a hand to the screen where the message had played out. "So why does our Rebel interest Lord Vader? Or is it the fiasco surrounding him that is bringing the Dark Lord here?"

 

Relief flooded through the Major as the attention turned from him onto matters he understood clearly. "It hasn't been confirmed yet, but I believe the Rebel pilot may be Luke Skywalker."

 

"Skywalker?" The General frowned, then repeated thoughtfully. "Skywalker. The name is familiar, but I don't have the time to learn the names and importance of Rebels. Enlighten me, Major."

 

"He's the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, Sir," Ayrn explained.

 

Mahkren cocked his head in interest. "Intriguing," he drawled, slowly considering this information and feeling there was a little more to the name, something from the beginning of his command career, from the end of the Clones Wars.  He shrugged, dismissing his thoughts. "However, it makes no difference. Even Lord Vader is not above the Law. The Rebel will still face execution when Rhovan is finished with him. The order has been signed."     

 

"Rhovan is making progress, Sir. He tricked the Rebel into giving a name for the leader of the Resistance and I have my staff trying to track him now." Ayrn announced happily.

 

The General sat up straighter, looking brighter. "Excellent news, Ayrn. How long before an arrest is made?"

 

The Major's happiness faded. "I don't have a time period, Sir. The name is all we have, but we are currently..."

 

Darkness shadowed Mahkren's features, anger flared behind his eyes. "And you consider this progress?" he asked quietly, simmering. "A name. No location, no description. The Resistance are reluctant to use their known names, or had you forgotten!" His voice rose as he spoke.

 

"Uh, no, Sir. But, my staff are working through the data b..."

 

"Have Rhovan go back to the pilot," Mahkren snarled, furiously. "Have him go back and get something more. That little bastard was with them for long enough, he must know more than he is saying."

 

"He appeared broken when I left. If he knew any more…”

 

"Are you contradicting me, Ayrn?

 

"Never, Sir!" He pulled himself into a tighter stance. "But Lord Vader will be arriving shortly and if..."

 

"I am the System Commander!" Mahkren roared, standing and leaning over his desk. "I give the orders, and I have them obeyed, without question! Is that clear!"

 

"Yes, sir!" Ayrn snapped in response, averting his gaze to behind the General. Then, as the General sat back down, he tentatively suggested. "Sir, It would be beneficial to my investigation if I could question the pilot along with Rhovan. The tactic worked with the doctor and if..."

 

Mahkren didn't let him finish. He waved his hand dismissively wanting the man out of his office. "Do as you wish, Major. Just get out of my sight."

 

As Ayrn left, Mahkren slumped in his chair, feeling lethargic and numb, tired. The brief burst of forced fury had left him drained; Ayrn's greed for position had sickened him and had reminded him of his own younger years, his own hunger for rank and status. And look where it had gotten him, where it had gotten his son.

 

He rubbed his hands over his face, took in a breath of air and switched on his computer console, bringing up his day's schedule on the screen. He wiped it clear, then activated the larger view screen on the office wall, selecting the picture of a dark, currently empty, Interrogation Suite.

 

This time he would observe his son's killer being questioned.

 ooOOoo

 

_The twin suns were setting on the horizon, Tatoo One and Two sinking slowly, shedding golden red hues over the sandy plains surrounding the remote moisture farm. Luke was sitting at the side of the dome, legs lying flat out before him, back against the warm wall. An early evening breezed tugged at stray strands of his hair and pulled at his tunic. The air around him was tepid and smelled of his aunt's freshly baked paq scones that she had made for the next morning's breakfast. Luke was already planning on swiping one for a snack on his way to his room._

_He looked down at the small motor in his hands and reached for the set of tools by his side. He had promised his aunt he would take a look at it for her or else they would need to purchase a new extractor fan for the kitchen. All it had needed was a good clean and a little adjustment and he could place it back before bed._

_The breeze began to gust and Luke glanced up briefly at the dying suns, catching sight of the graves set away from the homestead, the markers casting long shadows across the sand. His eyes fell on his grandmother's resting place and he found himself suddenly wondering about her, what she was like, what she would have thought of him._

_"She would have been proud of you, Luke."_

_He started at his aunt's voice. He had been oblivious of her rise from the dome and of her approach. "How did you know what I was thinking?" he asked with a smile, looking up at her._

_"Because I know you, and she is the only tangible thing you have near which reminds you of your own family."_

_"You're my family, Aunt Beru. You and Uncle Owen," he told her firmly, lifting a screwdriver and setting about removing the cover to the motor._

_She smiled. "We raised you, yes. Your grandmother married Cliegg Lars and brought your father into the family. But we don't have what you have, we don't have what you need."_

_He looked at her in puzzlement and as he did so the screwdriver slipped and gashed across his wrist. He hissed in pain, dropped both the tool and the motor. His aunt crouched beside him and took his wrist. Lifting a cloth from her pocket she covered the cut._

_He took comfort in her closeness, her soft touch, the rustle of her dress, the smell of fresh baking that the breeze lifted from her. It was a feeling, a sound and a smell he relished from his childhood. "I've missed you," he told her, his words thick with grief. "And Uncle Owen. I don't want to leave again."_

_"But you have too, Luke." She placed a soft palm against his sore face. The winds were picking up, the suns were almost gone and a pure darkness was crawling across the desert. He shivered, feeling suddenly cold as his aunt spoke again. "You have to go back."_

_He shook his head, pulled away from her a little, fear seeping into his veins, moving through his body, tingling in his legs. "No, I can't do this anymore...I..."_

_"You are his weakness, Luke," Beru informed him, kindly. "And you have a strength within you that he craves."_

_“Who...?" he started, and he followed her gaze, turned his head and saw a dark figure standing by his grandmother's grave. A tall figure, hooded and cloaked against the Tatooine winds._

_“I..." he turned back to his aunt, but she was gone. He looked around as the farm faded, as the sand beneath him solidified. He struggled to stand, fell as pain flared from his back, he put his hands out to break his fall and as he hit the metal surface of his cell he saw his wrists bound. Black boots stepped in front of his face..._

 

...and he was hauled to his feet.

 

His dream vanished as hard reality struck home.The guards linked their arms through his, locked his elbows against his body and carried him from the cell, down the corridor and into the interrogation suite. His heart hammered within his chest, his body and mind assaulted by a storm of emotions and conflicting thoughts.

 

He had to fight the urge to cry out, to deny what was happening, had to fight the urge to struggle and squirm, to pull away. Vader would be here. That's whom he was about to face. How could he resist now? How could he continue in this state? Where would he find the strength when he had none left?

 

His feet dragged on the steps as they took him down and he saw the chair with a bag on top of it. He saw the line hanging from the ceiling. He saw the droid and he saw Dade and another Imperial soldier watching him with curiosity.

 

But there was no Vader.

 

Confusion shook him as the door closed at his back. He should feel some relief, but he didn't. There was only terror.

 

Rhovan stepped forward hand falling onto his gun belt, resting on the butt of his side arm. He had wanted to avoid this. He had not wanted to subject Luke to any more sessions until the Dark Lord's arrival. The more Skywalker was questioned, the more he was pressured, the more chance there was that he may recall other details not so easily explained away as trickery used in interrogation. But the General had ordered it, and Ayrn - given the task of finding the Network Commander - had insisted he be present. And Mahkren had granted it.

 

"Luke," Rhovan started softly, watching tremors shudder through the pilot's bruised body. "I've been ordered to speak with you again. Luke, look at me."

 

Luke lifted his head, obeying to avoid hurt. Rhovan gestured to his counterpart, "This is Major Ayrn. He was instrumental in the investigation of your whereabouts and overseeing your arrest."

 

Luke's eyes flitted to the other man. He heaved in a breath. "Con...gratulations," he croaked, hoarsely.

 

Rhovan bowed his head slightly, shook it slowly and held out a hand, stopping Ayrn from moving in on the boy. "I had hoped you had reconsidered your attitude. I had hoped we could speak on more...civilised terms."

 

He let his words sink in, holding Luke's gaze. The youth was labouring; his breathing coming in hitches and grunts. "If you are willing to talk with us,” Rhovan continued, “you may sit down. If not…” He reached out, touching the cable and it swung in front of Luke's face.

 

Luke lowered his head.

 

This was an impossible situation and he was utterly desolate, alone and frantic. He had little reserves left. He was badly hurt, bodily and emotionally battered, and he had nothing on which he could focus; nothing that he could use to keep his mind from shrieking their answers; nothing he could utter to keep from spilling those answers. Nothing, except that he knew nothing more about the Network. Nothing except...

 

He raised his head, gave a little smile. "Sky…walker, Luke…. Lieu…tenant-Commander. 095...59675."

 

Rhovan understood what Luke was trying to do. He knew why Luke had now chosen to fall back upon the standard name, rank and number. The boy had nothing else and saw little point in protecting his identity. He needed only to protect his mind and the information it contained.

 

Ayrn chuckled, "I'm sure Lord Vader will be pleased his journey here has not been in vain."

 

Rhovan watched Luke's reaction. The Rebel's head jerked up in surprise and he glanced at Rhovan in confusion and horror. Only Rhovan had known who he truly was, and now he had given himself away. His head dropped - not that it mattered now anyway.

 

The Primary Interrogator lifted the bag and the chair and set them to the side. Then he stepped back. "Hoist him!"

 

Luke could feel the panic beating from within, felt his breathing and heart rate accelerate. The room seemed to close in, press closer, the guards movements exaggerated, slow, but determined...

 

_I can't do this. I can't..._

_..._ He fought them, tried to wrench his arms away, but they dropped him, beat him and held him. Hopelessness and helplessness engulfed him as the cable was fastened to his restraints. He was jerked aloft, the movement snapping through his back and propelling pain along his spine to his legs, to his cracked ribs, to his arms, to his head where it slammed into his skull. He cried out, blacked out.

 

 ooOOoo

 

The Executor slipped from hyperspace into the Escaal system and Darth Vader, standing by a view port on the bridge, turned to gaze out at the planet as it came into view. His helmet inclined as he stretched out with his feelings, seeking out the elusive presence of his son...

 

 ooOOoo

 

... _He was running, feet pounding on metal deck plating, heart racing, breathing coming in panicked gasps. Behind him the boot steps of the following Stormtroopers clattered. As he neared a corner he turned, pulled off a shot from his blaster and dropped one of the soldiers. He ducked around the corner avoiding the responding gunfire that thudded into the wall at his back, and almost drew to a stop at the sight of closed blast doors before him._

_He was trapped!_

_Thinking furiously, he continued to run, looking for the control panel that would open the doors for him. There was nothing either side, but as he approached the doors began to slide apart. He whooped with joy, barrelled onward as the soldiers behind him reached the corner._

_Then he was skidding to a stop, sliding to the floor, landing on his tailbone and pedalling backwards as the doors parted to reveal more troopers and behind them, lightsaber drawn and activated, the black figure of Darth Vader..._

 

"...No!" Luke's eyes flew open, pupils dilating due to the effects of the drug that coursed through his system once more. It had brought him round, wrenching him from one nightmare only to dump him into another. Pain enfolded his body; every torn and battered nerve ending screamed its raw, excruciating message to his thudding brain. He burned and blistered, he throbbed, he hurt, and he knew he couldn't endure this much longer. Beads of sweat gathered and spilled from his brow and he blinked them away as the Interrogator stepped back into his line of vision.

 

Rhovan gestured at the droid to move back behind the hanging pilot and he regarded Luke closely. It had taken a large dose to bring the boy around and he was growing concerned about his ability to keep him conscious if they had to apply more pressure. "Tell me about Dade?" he asked with a pleasant tone.

 

Luke struggled to find his voice. His mouth was dry, his throat clogged and raw. He had to concentrate to pull the words from within, to force them past his lips. "Y...you...know him...better...than...I…"

 

The droid was quick to punish.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Pain oscillated through the Force, ripples of despair and anguish washed against his senses and Vader pulled back from his son's suffering, closed his mind to the thoughts and feelings Luke was unconsciously sending out. He turned to Ozzel, barely hiding his impatience. "Have my shuttle prepared immediately. Inform the System Commander I will be going directly to the prison and have the brig prepare for Skywalker's transfer."

 

Ozzel bowed his assent. "As you wish, my Lord."

 

 ooOOoo

 

"I...can't..."

 

Rhovan caught the whisper, heavy with pain and doubt. "Can't what, Luke?" he questioned, aware of Ayrn at his back. The soldier was eager, anxious for answers. "Can't what?"

 

Luke tried to lift himself on the cuffs, tried to find some relief for his stretched muscles. He could feel the drug crawling through his veins, could feel his senses react to its guileful ministrations, its insidious influence on his body. He was awake and coherent, as they wanted, but he was also exhausted, suffering from dehydration and starvation, and very weary of the pain, of the questions. He lowered his head, stared at the floor, at the blood and sweat that dripped there. He was aware he was moaning, grunting softly as he breathed, but he was helpless to stop it.

 

"Luke?" Rhovan began, then turned as Ayrn stepped forward, eyes glistening, a thin smile on his lips. "Perhaps," he suggested as Ayrn grinned, "if he is reluctant to tell us of the Resistance he will be more willing to discuss his Rebel Alliance?"

 

Ayrn chuckled, enjoying the look of consternation that slowly spread over the pilot's features.

 

"With which squadron do you fly?" Rhovan continued.

         

_No! No, not now...Not yet... his squad... friends...He couldn't._

 

"Skywa... lker," he force through cracked lips, over a thick and swollen tongue. "Lu… Luke. Lieut..." He didn't get to finish. The droid's charge tore through him. He stiffened and convulsed on the line.

 

Rhovan waited until the cries dulled to panting, then to the quiet moaning of before. "Luke, this isn't going to stop," he advised him. "Not until you give us some answers. Not until we have something of substance to go on."

 

Luke lifted his head, glared at Dade. "L…ong.. wait," he gasped, as shivers shuddered through him, as his mind screamed at him in disbelief at his own words.

 

The Primary Interrogator paused as the droid worked, then spoke again before Ayrn could interject. "It's one or the other, Luke. The Resistance or the Alliance."

 

"Did you meet Dade?" Ayrn asked eagerly. "Did you have contact with any other operatives?"

 

Luke closed his eyes, but vague images danced before them in the darkness. Red and white circles and streaks moved against his eyelids; the transient shapes swirling and twisting, intermingling and pulling apart. A wave of dizziness washed through him as he watched them prance. He retched, he gagged: feeling wretched. This was too much, too much. This had to stop. He had to stop, he had to...

 

 _...what? What do I do?_ _I have nothing... I have nothing..._

_...K_ eep going. He had to keep going... He had...

 

… _nothing to lose. And so much to gain..._

_..._ to fight..he had...

 

 ... _.nothing left to give. I have nothing left..._

_..._ a memory. A man with red hair. He had...

 

_...I can't. I can't put another where I am..._

_…_ patched him up, bandaged his ankle. He had...

 

_... I won't! I won't..._

_…_ allowed him to sleep when he had hurt so much. He had...

 

_...left me there. Left me to be brought here again..._

..started asking about the Alliance. He had...

 

  _... No! I can't give the squad... I can't..._

 

The agony flared once more as the droid stimulated his wounded back. His body curved and contorted with the charge, and his shoulder - barely healed since his ejection - popped as the ligaments ruptured and the joint separated under the stress placed upon it. He wailed, "Muh... Muh... Medic!"

 

Ayrn laughed at the cry. "Not so cocky now, is he?"

 

Rhovan ignored him and spoke to Luke. "There will be no more medics, Luke. No more medical attention until you give us some information we can use. The Alliance or the Resistance..."

 

Alarm trembled through Luke as he realised Dade had misunderstood him, had thought he was calling for a medic. He opened his eyes, shook his head, appealing to the Interrogator and he dragged in a breath, not wanting to be hurt again. "No... no... in... in... troop..." his voice caught, was trapped in a throat and mouth too dry and raw for use.           

 

And it dawned coldly on Rhovan what Luke was trying to tell them, what he was trying to explain. He remembered chewing out the medic in the troop carrier, after Taln had left with the Rebel, for taking his helmet off and, regrettably, he couldn't allow Luke to say more. He couldn't lose another operative. He couldn't risk the medic landing in his cells. He waved the droid in before Luke could find the strength for more words, and turned away as he cried out again.

 

Luke was struggling badly. Darkness danced elusively at the edge of his consciousness and he so wanted to reach out and grasp it and hold it to him. He wanted to wrap himself in oblivion, but the drug held him back, allowed relief to linger, to taunt him with its alluring quiet, while he suffered the anguish of torture.

 

"Red... red.. hair," he whispered with sorrow and remorse, eyes closed again.

 

"What?" Ayrn stepped forward past Rhovan. "What did you say?"

 

"M... medic... red hair..." The voice was low, ragged with pain.

 

Rhovan gestured at the droid to move in again.

 

"No. Wait," Ayrn barked quickly, waving the droid back. "We may have something here, Rhovan. Give him some water and let him speak."

 

Rhoven knew Ayrn was right. In any other circumstances he would be doing exactly what Ayrn was - giving the prisoner a chance to speak.

 

This was what he had feared would happen. This was another of his Network Operatives about to be exposed. But, he couldn't raise suspicion by acting against the norm, either. He lifted the bag from the chair, took out a fresh water canister and opened it. Crossing to Luke, he lifted the boy's chin and placed the water against his bleeding mouth.

 

Luke felt the coolness on his lips and opened his eyes. He knew he needed the liquid. His thirst was incessant, his mouth and throat parched. But he didn't want it from this man. He turned his head away.

 

Rhovan tightened his hand on Luke's chin, forced him back round. "Take it from me, or you'll take it from my guards," he threatened.

 

Luke opened his mouth, allowing the water to flow in over his tongue. It was cool and sweet again and he swallowed rapidly, taking as much of the water and its nourishment additive as he could. It dribbled down his chin, over  Dade's hand and dripped onto the floor. Then, too soon, it was taken away.

 

As Rhovan stepped back and placed the bottle onto the chair, Ayrn moved in. "The medic had red hair?" he quickly questioned.

 

Luke nodded loosely.

 

Ayrn licked his lips. The doctor they had questioned did not have red hair. This was something entirely different. "And where did you see this medic?" he inquired further.

 

Before Luke could muster an answer, one of the guards spoke. "Sir? Excuse me, Sir."

 

"What?" Ayrn snapped, impatiently.

 

"He's describing the medic who was called down to him earlier, Sir."

 

"What?!" The Major almost screeched the word as he repeated it.

 

Rhovan came forward and placed a hand on Ayrn's shoulder. He smiled, hoping his counterpart couldn't see his relief. The guard had unwittingly given the Network a reprieve and, silently, he thanked the medical staffs' duty roster that had placed his operative in Luke's cell. Now he could, so very easily, turn the tables on the boy and discredit him. "What the guard means, Ayrn, is that Luke is still playing with us, telling us what we want to hear. Either that, or he is becoming more desperate as his resolve fails him."

 

"No!" Luke denied, horror and fury coiling together within, seeing what Dade was trying to do. He forced the words out, drawing on his anger to give him the strength he needed. "You... know what.. you're doing... .You... re using me... Twisting ev... every… thing for your... .Network!"

 

He gasped for air, and then rasped, "Dade."

 

Rhovan turned on his heel, closed his fist and backhanded his prisoner across the face. Luke's head whipped back, blood spraying from his mouth as his teeth were driven through the soft flesh of his cheek. His body swung back, but the guards caught him, righted him, grasped his hair and pulled his head up.

 

"And you," Rhovan spat, angrily. "Don't pay attention!" He leaned in, until his mouth was next to Luke's ear and he whispered, kindly. "Stop this, Luke. Stop fighting me. Give me something I can work with and I'll let you down. You can rest."

 

He stepped back, turned away once more, smiling at Ayrn's puzzled expression; the man hadn't heard him and was wondering what he had said. "What Squadron do you fly with?" He asked.

 

Voice barely audible, Luke answered. "Skywalker..."

 

 ooOOoo

 

Sitting by his desk, uniform unfastened and untidy, General Mahkren stared emotionlessly at the wall mounted viewscreen as it relayed the live link from the detention centre. He had thought he might feel some pleasure from the Rebel pilot's pain, thought he would feel a sense of retribution, of satisfaction that the scum responsible for his son's death was now suffering for his crimes. But he didn't. He didn't feel anything. His son was still dead and the Rebel very much alive.

 

He turned away, looked out of the office window at the grey rain clouds that had gathered over the city.

 

At any other time he might have felt a sense of pride that his men had apprehended a celebrity traitor. Skywalker's capture had cost too much in terms of finance and lives; in terms of public feeling about the Empire… Not that this concerned him too much, but it helped when the people were passive and the events of the last few weeks had stirred up the population and created malcontent in many sectors which would have to be dealt with.

 

_Skywalker? Something about that name…_

 

Then there was the concern about how he was now being viewed by Coruscant, and Lord Vader's imminent arrival. In the light of his son's death, though, he had neither pride nor anxiousness. There was only a heavy numbness that dragged at his spirit, that weighted his limbs and he felt as though he was merely operating by instinct, by an automatic response that seemed to get him through the long hours of each day.

 

Another prolonged howl from the interrogation suite drew his attention back to the screen, and he reached for the console on his desk to turn it off. As he did so the picture was interrupted and he found himself looking at a very young lieutenant.

 

"Uh, General, sir?"

 

"What is it?" Mahkren asked wearily, wondering what banal information he was about to be given.

 

"Ah, Lord Vader's ship has entered orbit..."

 

Not as mediocre as he had expected. He sighed, pulled his jacket closed. "Then alert me when he is on his way, and prepare a welcoming party."

 

"Sir…He's already on his way... to… to the prison."

 

A stir of anger broke through Mahkren's apathy. So, the Dark Lord of the Sith would rather forgo Imperial Procedures and be greeted by Rebel scum than one of His Majesty's Generals? "Inform Lord Vader I will greet him there and have my driver bring my speeder round."

 

"Yes, Sir!"

 

Mahkren stood and tided his uniform, pulling his jacket sharply into place. He swept a hand through his hair and reached for his cap, which sat upon the desk. He did not often don it, but one had to maintain appearances for the Emperor's Dark Lord enforcer.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Vader had to quell his mounting impatience. He compelled himself to sit silently behind his nervous pilot and allow the man to perform his duty without interruption, but he was so close, so near… The depths of the Force drew around him and he relaxed into it, focused on one thought, one individual. His son! His emotions swelled with anticipation and satisfaction, with a sense of vengeance and retribution, with anger and pride. He had found his son and was about to take possession of the child who had been stolen away by a man he had regarded as a friend and mentor...

 

_"You're the closest thing I have to a father."_

 

He was about to take from the Jedi the very thing they had tried so desperately to hide from him. But the child had been corrupted, kept ignorant and innocent and he was a Rebel. Obi-Wan had pitted son against father and, he smiled ruefully, the boy had won.

 

It would have been a humiliation for the Empire had the Galaxy, as a whole, known about the Death Star. In the end, Alderaan became a natural disaster and all knowledge of a super weapon was skilfully denied. However, it remained a private humiliation for himself - an untrained, undisciplined child had bested him and, had thus, become the focus of his anger and his revenge.

 

He gathered his feelings and probed outward seeking Luke's presence within the folds of the Force..

 

_...Agony slammed into him, ripping him apart, tearing into his defences leaving him open and naked to their inspection. He reeled from the pain, tried to scrabble back, tried to fight, tried to find one thing on which he could trust to protect him since even his name had failed him now. He couldn't do this, anymore. He couldn't sustain this..._

 

_... Home... where is home..._

_... Hot air, and sunlight. Tan sand, golden dunes and red rocks..._

_... Tatooine..._

_... Night was falling, the evening winds picking up, swirling tiny grains of sand around his ankles..._

_... a woman dressed in simple clothing, calling him..._

_"Annie?"_

 

He drew back, threw the vision aside, discarded it and stilled the forgotten emotions...

 

_...grief and regret. Love and warmth..._

_..._ that had abruptly risen within. They had no place here. They had no meaning for him.

 

_“Anakin, you’re breaking my heart.”_

 

Furiously, he pulled himself erect in the acceleration chair and watched as the shuttle drew him closer to Escaal and to his faltering son. He nurtured his anger, kept it close, and drew his strength from its simplicity.       

 

Soon.

 ooOOoo

It was getting harder now. Every fibre of him was stretched to the limit by the searing pain that rammed into him, thrusting and stabbing his already weakened body. He could hear the droid's repulsor hum, could feel its electroshock probe at his back. He could hear their questions just as he could hear his own moaning and panting, his cries and his screams. He knew what they wanted, knew what they were asking, knew what would happen if he didn't give them what they wanted. And worse, he knew the answers to their questions.

****

_"Bang out, Luke!"_

"Wedge?"

_"Eject! Dammit!"_

 

"Can't... Wedge..."

 

Rhovan move closer, eyes narrowing at the whispered words.

 

Luke's head had fallen forward, his hair, greasy and limp, covered his features. His body had slackened and the tremors, that had afflicted him for so long, had diminished in intensity. He now hung loosely from the ceiling, his breathing soft, but still somewhat laboured. "Wedge?" Rhovan asked, knowing the analeptic drug was wearing off, knowing Luke's thoughts were becoming confused and unfocused. The youth could be hallucinating. "Come on, Luke. Tell me about Wedge." Behind him he could feel Ayrn's interest pique.

 

"C... Can…t," Luke murmured again, eyes closed against his agony. It wasn't just physical: it was emotional and mental. His thoughts were loose and hazy. Random words and images appeared in his mind, memories firing through his head. Memories of home: of the farm, of burning corpses. Memories of the Death Star corridors, of Han and Leia, of Ben: of death. Of Biggs... Yavin... Moving base, joining the squad, arriving at the new garrison on...

 

No!

 

His feelings were wild, out of control and he couldn't reign in his fear, his terror, his fright. They slithered through him, twisted tight within, creating a perpetual state of panic. They played with him, teased him and bade him disclose.

 

"Give me something, Luke!" Rhovan ordered, encouraging and cajoling. "Give me something and this can stop. Tell me about Wedge." He didn't know what, or who, Luke was talking about, but it was a way in, a lever to use to open the crack Luke had revealed.

 

_Bang out, Luke!_

 

"No. P..ick... me.. up..."

 

"Who'll pick you up, Luke?” Rhovan asked. Ayrn stepped forward, but Rhovan held his hand up, keeping the other man silent.

 

Luke shook his head, slowly. "I... Imps..."

 

Ayrn sniggered. "A little late to be worried about that, wouldn't you say?"

 

Rhovan glared at him briefly, before turning back to Luke. "Open your eyes, Luke... Look at me."

 

It took effort, it took concentration but Luke dragged his swollen eyes open to blink in the harsh light. He squinted at the blurry man before him.

 

"Do you know where you are?"

 

And the eyes closed again. "In...trouble..."

 

Rhovan couldn't help but smile. Even near breaking point the boy had courage. "And do you know who I am?"

 

"Dade," Luke told him. He was tired, so very tired. He could feel the darkness returning, could feel the warmth of its embrace enfold around him, dragging him down into its hollow expanse. He wanted to go, he wanted oblivion and peace.

 

"Yes, Luke. I'm Dade. And you know you can trust me."

 

"Just brilliant," Aryn muttered behind him. "Genius!"

 

Luke shook his head. Droplets of sweat falling from his hair. "No... no..."

 

Rhovan reached out and swept the hair from Luke's face. "You can trust me, Luke. I helped you before, on the moor, remember? My men snatched you from the Empire, Luke. We took you to safety. I can do that again if you help me now. Wouldn't you like that? To be safe and not be in pain anymore."

 

_Not to be in pain._

 

It was true: they had helped him. They had taken him from the moor, given him medical attention. They had helped him, and now Dade was asking for his help. But he couldn't do this, couldn't trust him. Dade was the same one who hurt him now, left him to the droid.

 

"Look at me, Luke," Rhovan ordered firmly, breaking through Luke's gathering delirium. When the boy's gaze met his he continued, "This is all an act. You know who I really am. You know what I truly believe in, and it isn't the Empire. Help me, and I'll stop the pain."

 

 _Bang out, Luke_.

 

"Go... home, Wedge." His eyes were shut again, his attention turned inward, seeking another place.

 

So Wedge was a person...

 

"Help me, Luke," Rhovan repeated. "Tell me about Wedge, and I'll take away the pain." He nodded to the droid, standing and watching as Luke jerked and twitched along with the rhythmic pulse of power that surged through him.

 

Ayrn shifted his feet, wincing at the Rebel's prolonged screams. "Rhovan?" he questioned, becoming uncomfortable as the passing minutes showed no abatement.

 

When it stopped, Rhovan cupped Luke's chin. "Luke?"

 

He frowned at the lack of response. The droid's syringe flooded with the drug once more, but he waved it off. "Luke? Stay with me, Luke. Just a little longer." He smiled as he was rewarded with a murmur. "Tell me about Wedge and that won't happen again."

 

The darkness curled around him once more, calming him after the searing light, the blazing pain. He heard the voice echo around him with a cold promise and he wanted to believe it, wanted to grasp it to him and hold tight the sliver of hope it gave him. "C.. can't..do..this," he wept,"…anymore."

 

"Then help me, Luke. Help the Network! Tell me about Wedge! Who is he?"

 

He moved his hand from Luke's chin to his bruised cheek, wiping away the tears and the blood with a brush of his thumb. "It's okay, it's okay," he soothed, quietly, whispering. "This'll be over soon. Tell me about Wedge."

 

_Bang out!_

 

"Made.. the.. the..jump.." The words felt strange as they tumbled over his tongue. He swallowed blood from his mouth.

 

"Wedge is a pilot?"

 

"Yes..." It was said as a sigh through more tears. His back hurt so much. His legs seared with needle points.

 

"Your friend?"

 

"Yes..."

 

"And he left you here?"

 

"No...told... him... to go."

 

"Where is he now, Luke? Where is Wedge.?"

 

The voice sounded so far away now. So far away from him and he found it hard to move his own lips, found it difficult to feel the muscles he needed to use to speak. "... Home..."

 

"Where is home?"

 

Ayrn stepped forward, eager. Listening for the name of the Rebel base.

_Warm air, and sunlight. Tan sand, golden dunes and red rocks._

"Tat... Tatooine..."

 

"Tatooine?" Aryn asked, his voice heavy with scepticism.

 

"His home world," Rhovan stated bluntly, speaking to Ayrn over his shoulder. He watched Luke closely, growing concerned. "Luke, Wedge isn't on Tatooine. Where is he?"

 

_... Night was falling, the evening winds picking up, swirling tiny grains of sand around his ankles..._

_... a woman dressed in simple clothing, calling him home..._

_..."Luke?"_

 

"Luke?" Rhovan questioned, anxiously, as the boy went slack on the line. His eyes closed and a quiet breath of air passed his lips.

 

"Luke?" He moved the boy's head, felt at his neck for a pulse and smiled with relief at the throb beneath his fingers. "He's out cold."

 

Ayrn glanced to the droid. "Then bring him round! He's cracking, we almost had the Rebel base!"

 

"No, he needs to rest. If we push him again we might kill him."

 

Ayrn shook his head and gestured at the black sphere behind the Rebel. "The droid hasn't alerted us to any indication of a fatal failing within him, Rhovan. We need to press the advantage we have now!"

 

Rhovan stepped back from Luke, turning angrily to Ayrn. "I am the Primary Interrogator, Ayrn. This is my call!"

 

"Then call it!" Ayrn screeched, his voice gathering in pitch at his frustration.

 

Rhovan turned to his guards. "Bring him down."

 

"What?" Ayrn rasped in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

 

Rhovan had to ask himself the same question. What was he doing? His actions were clearly going against his norm, his orders out of character, even his own staff showing surprise, although they said nothing. Was he doing this out of a sense of pity, or sympathy for the boy? Was his admiration and liking for the youth's courage clouding his thoughts as it had clouded Taln's? Or was there something else here? He smiled at Ayrn's incredulity. "I thought I might give Lord Vader the satisfaction of breaking him."

 

Aryn's expression of astonishment, melted into a wide smirk. "You really are a bastard, Rhovan," he said with some admiration.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Vader swept down the ramp of the shuttle ignoring the small collection of prison guards and officials that had hastily assembled for him. He strode purposely across the courtyard toward the waiting turbo lift, barely seeing the small blue astro droid plugged into an access port by the door as he stepped into it. The door closed behind him and the elevator began to descend.

 

 ooOOoo

Artoo tooted softly to himself, relieved the Dark Lord had past him with scarcely a glance. He had hacked into the prison mainframe and was watching Luke's interrogation. He drew a close up of his young master's tormentor, knowing that what he was hoping to accomplish depended very much on the Interrogator and what Luke seemed to believe of him. But he was still unsure of exactly how his hopes could be achieved.

 ooOOoo

Rhovan watched as his staff brought Skywalker to the floor. He lifted another bottle of water and was about to pass it to his men when the door opened. He glanced up and watched in sudden trepidation as Darth Vader stepped down into the room, having to stoop to get through the door. Rhovan had never seen the man outside of the holonet news and his size and bearing filled the room with a menace cleverly enhanced by his black helmet and suit, and his measured, unnatural breathing.

 

Ayrn stiffened, gasping quietly at his side. Rhovan set the bottle back on the chair and stepped forward. "My Lord Vader," he began, perturbed that they had not been alerted to his arrival.

 

Vader ignored the Primary Interrogator, turning away from man's greeting, his focus entirely on the crumpled figure on the floor. The guards jumped to their feet and stood aside as he moved closer and gazed down at his son.

 

Even through the mask he could see the damage done. Luke was lying on his side, clad only in a pair of dark briefs, his face turned slightly upward, his features swollen, bruised and bloodied. His hands, swollen and purple, lay bound above his head. His wrists were gouged deeply by the restraints that were still attached to a thin metal cable from the ceiling. His ankles were also shackled. His torso and limbs were mottled with bruises and abrasions, marked by dried and fresh rivulets and spatters of blood. His shoulder looked painfully disjointed. A raw burn marked his back, and as Vader moved, as his cloak hem brushed Luke's skin, a low moan rose from the dry, scabbed lips.

 

A slow, aching anger rose from within. If this were any other Rebel he would not have noticed the injuries, he would not have...

 

_... cared..._

 

... taken the time to assess the traitor's condition. He would have used his closeness, his very presence to push the boy to his limit and beyond, but this was no ordinary Rebel who had been beaten and abused. This was...

 

_"My son. My grown up son."_

         

"Your methods are brutal, Major." He interrupted his own thoughts, pushing away memories that belonged in the past, belonged to another man and which threatened to flood him with other feelings, other emotions of which he had no use. He gathered himself, turned solely to his simmering fury and addressed the Primary Interrogator.

 

"They are effective, my Lord," Rhovan told him coolly and carefully, picking up choler in his superior's voice.

 

Ayrn stepped eagerly forward. "We were very near to breaking him, my Lord, ~~.~~ " he offered.

 

Rage flurried within at the thin man's words, at his glee at Luke's collapse, but Vader tempered his urge to reach out and grasp his throat and crush it. "Is that so," he rumbled.

 

Ayrn paled.

 

"Then we shall see…" Vader turned to Rhovan's men. "Raise him back up!"

 

He stood to the side as the slack in the cable was taken up, and Luke was once again suspended. The boy groaned within his unconsciousness but did not waken. Vader waited until Luke's head was level with his own before signalling the guards to stop. He took Luke's chin in one hand, angled his head upwards until they were face-to-face and mere centimetres apart.

 

"Wake him!"

 

The droid moved in and injected Luke with the white analeptic drug. Vader watched as the youth began to stir, as his face contorted as he returned to his pain filled state, as his muscles cramped and twitched. He took a sharp intake of breath and opened his eyes. Vader watched as his son focused on him, as his eyes  widened with a terrible realisation of whose hand was touching him, holding him.

 

Luke yelled with terror, the cry an involuntary reaction to the shock of waking to the unexpected sight of the obsidian mask directly before him. He instinctively jerked his head away, but the black-gloved hand held him tightly. He struggled futilely against the strength of the grasping fingers, against the bonds around his wrists, against the absolute horror of his situation, but his movements did not last. Exhausted and beaten, he gradually grew still and turned his eyes away, refusing to look upon the mask of his father's murderer. He had never felt so lost. He had never experienced such empty anguish, such wretchedness.

 

Rhovan watched with interest, as only the boy's gasping moans and Vader's automated breathing broke the quiet within the room.

 

"You have allowed your fear to consume you, boy," Vader noted with sepulchral tones. "But it is your anger and hatred that has sustained you thus far."

 

The closeness of the man was stifling, suffocating. Every agonising breath he took, seemed to amplify the man's very presence and...

 

The words directed at him cut through Luke's invading panic and his gaze was drawn back to the Dark Lord. There was truth in what Vader had said. He had been succumbing to his fear; he had allowed himself to despair. But how could he not? How was he supposed to resist against the torture he had endured, was still enduring, especially now when his plight had become so much worse?

 

Vader smiled beneath his mask, feeling Luke's bewilderment. "You cannot," he responded, smiling further at the boy's startled reaction to his verbal acknowledgement of private thoughts. "You cannot resist further, Skywalker."

 

Hearing his name uttered by that voice caused a rough twist of anger to rotate within. Is that how Vader had said his father's name before he had murdered him? Was this monster's mask the last thing his father had seen before being struck down. Luke mustered his strength, used all of his animosity to answer. "I...can try..."

 

Standing to the side Rhovan frowned. This was not the defeated boy he had lowered to the floor only a few minutes before. Any other prisoner would have collapsed further on waking to find themselves still suspended, still in pain with no end in sight to their suffering bar their own submission. It appeared that Vader's presence had given Luke a renewed focus, and the Major had no idea what the source of that focus could be. It was intriguing.

 

Vader walked around Luke speaking as he moved. "And you will fail," he stated, callously. "You are gravely injured. It is drugs that keep you conscious and coherent. Your pathetic attempts at drawing upon the Force have only prolonged your suffering."

 

It took effort to find his voice again, took concentration to work past his pain and form the hoarse words. "I.. won't betray... the Alliance... as… you betrayed... my father..."

 

The biting words stopped Vader. He had thought it unlikely that Luke would have been told the truth about him. He had known that Obi-Wan would have fed the boy lies to keep him loyal and ignorant, but to be accused of betraying himself was laughable.

 

He leaned close to Luke, who instinctively tried to turn his head away. "It was not _I_ who betrayed your father," he hissed with an unspoken meaning he knew Luke would understand.

 

_“You turned her against me!”_

 

Luke bridled at the hidden suggestion, at the slur on Obi-Wan, and he struck back the only way he could. He spat at Vader, but having no saliva it was blood from his burst mouth that splattered upon the angular cheeks of the mask. It still had the desired effect as the Dark Lord averted his head at the unexpected act of defiance.

 

Vader stepped back, wiped a glove over his mask and stared briefly at the blood on his fingers. There was a brief rush of pride at his son's challenge, at his son's stubborn audacity, but the open act of rebellion could not go unpunished. He hit out, angrily, his fist striking Luke across the face.

 

The blow tore a gash under Luke's eye, whipped his head to the side, and sent more blood spraying from his mouth. Luke slumped, head lolling, senses reeling, but he was held in check by the drug. He was not permitted to pass out.

 

"My Lord Vader!" Rhovan broke in. He had stood by with Ayrn and, as much as the exchange between the two was interesting, as much as he had realised that Vader and Skywalker had some shared background, he felt it necessary to re-focus all of their attentions. Besides, any more knocks like that to the pilot's head and he might not be able respond again, no matter how much drug was pumped into him.

 

"Forgive me, My Lord…" He bowed his head in deference when Vader turned to him. "I am eager to continue with the interrogation given his willingness to talk prior to your arrival."

 

Luke hung, allowing the blood to run from his mouth. His head pounded from the blow, nausea rolling through him with every throb. He swallowed, gagged on the blood, retched and gasped. He heard Dade speak, felt the words break through the buzzing in his ears. He dragged his head up, tried to open his eyes, squinted through swollen flesh as the Network commander addressed the Dark Lord. It was difficult to keep his thoughts, his feelings, from being over-powered and battered by events; difficult to remain centred when his body screamed its agony; when he was suffering from the effects dehydration and terror.

 

But he knew one thing. He hated this man, this man who tortured him in the name of the Empire while professing allegiance to the Alliance.

 

Vader was about to answer when he sensed something else from behind him: from the boy. There was an overbearing confusion, but there was also - and Vader could not help the satisfaction that filled him - an undisciplined hostility. There was naked loathing. There was a passion, a strength of feeling which stirred within the Force. It was a purity of power that the boy had no recognition of, but that Vader knew all too well.

 

It was darkness and it was within his son. It was not directed at him, though, it was directed at the Primary Interrogator. And more, Luke did not fear this man as he feared Vader. He did not fear the torture upon his body. Luke's fear was about his own abilities to withstand the unrelenting pain. He feared making a disclosure that would lead the Empire to his friends.

 

Luke's weakness was his loyalty.

 

"Very well," Vader replied moving behind Luke, out of the boy's line of vision. This would be interesting. "Continue."

 

"No!" The denial was merely a breath of air. Luke closed his eyes against it all.

 

Keenly aware of Vader's scrutiny, Rhovan stepped up, gesturing for Luke to be lowered to his height. "Luke?" His heart was racing, he could feel the sweat popping from his own forehead, his own mouth going dry. "We were talking about Wedge, Luke. Do you remember?"

 

"No..."

 

Rhovan didn't know whether Luke was saying he didn't remember or if the word was a refusal to agree. He was concerned that the advantage he had gained over Luke was now lost due to the Dark Lord's arrival. "Luke," he warned. "You know what happens when you don't comply with me."

 

"Please.. don't..."

 

"You told me you couldn't do this anymore, and you don't have too. You were telling me about your friend, Wedge, about how he was a fellow pilot. You told me where he was."

 

He kept his voice level, calm, watching closely to see if Luke would pick up the deception. "You told us, Luke."

 

_You told us. You told us._

_You told._

_Told._

The word reverberated around him, echoing its devastating meaning with each beat of his heart, each throb of his headache. He remembered speaking, remembered saying something. Remembered hearing hollow and distant voices. He had told, and his foolhardy words to Vader were false. He had already betrayed the Alliance.

 

He had told. He had betrayed his friends, his comrades. He had told them about Wedge, told them where he was, told them about the base. He had failed.

 

"No..."

 

Vader remained silent as the Major's trickery had the desired effect. He felt Luke's resolve crumple, felt the boy's defences razed. The moment held mixed emotions for him; bitter disappointment that Luke had fallen, but pride that he had lasted far longer than many other men. It was of no matter. When he removed the boy from this place he would rebuild him as Palpatine had him rebuilt.

 

Rhovan continued. "You gave us home, Luke. You told us about Wedge and your squad." He paused, watching Luke as tears grew and spilled, mixing with blood, before dripping from his face. "How many others are in your squad at home?"

 

Ayrn moved against the wall, observing as Rhovan continued. His heel hit the chair and spilled the bottle of water Rhovan had placed there, onto the floor. The clear liquid splash out. Cursing quietly, he lifted the bottle and returned it to the chair, before wiping his hands dry against his uniform. Then he turned his attention back to the Rebel pilot, eager to hear what the youth had to say.

 

_Home._

_Told about home._

 

The anguish of those words sliced through him, lacerating deeper than any physical wound.

_Wedge._

_Told about Wedge._

_The squad..._

 

He had failed his squad, his men, his friends. He had doomed them to a battle to save the base, doomed many to die, some to capture and torture like this. He was pleased he would be dead soon, pleased that after he had told all, they would give him peace so that he would not have to endure the guilt.

 

_Home...a woman dressed in simple clothing..._

He had given them home. Abruptly, from the desolation, came a flicker of light.

_Tatooine..._

 

He had given them _his_ home! They were trying to deceive him, trick him into speaking. He had heard Wedge's voice from the battle, mentioned Wedge as the drug had worn off, as images and sounds from his tired brain fired at random. They had used him, were still using him. He hadn't given the base; he had given them Tatooine!

 

Vader sensed the change within Luke. At first there was only deep depression. Then, slowly, he felt the development of wonder and comprehension, could sense the elation growing from the roots of despondency. His son had just shown his intelligence, and Luke's spirit, though badly damaged, was still resistant.

 

Luke lifted his head stared at Dade through bleary eyes. He was aware of Vader at his back, aware of the man's proximity, his presence hanging heavy around him, suffocating him, making it difficult to breathe. But he focused on Dade, focused on drawing another breath through the stabbing pain from his chest, focused on giving his tormentor an answer. He gave a little, crooked smile, knowing he was about to be severely punished. "No... squad... on Ta... tooine. Ju... ust lots… of s... sand."

 

Rhovan cursed silently. Sighing heavily with frustration and regret, he motioned the droid in, as Ayrn muttered, "I don't believe it!" from behind him.

 

Vader put his hand up, stopping the droid.

 

Luke braced himself for the droid to touch him, waited for the searing shock to ignite through his back, to stiffen and jerk his aching muscles. But it didn't come. Instead the quiet of the room was split by the spit and hum of a lightsaber blade.

 

Rhovan saw the panic flare across Luke's face. Watched as the Dark Lord brought the blade up, as he held it briefly near the Rebel's naked back.

 

"Do... on't... please... no!"

 

Vader brought the sword upward and across, cutting through the line from the ceiling and Luke dropped heavily to the floor. Rhovan couldn't help but breathe his relief.

         

Vader deactivated his sabre. "Have him taken to my ship, immediately," he ordered then looked pointedly at Ayrn. "I shall break him myself."

 

 ooOOoo

 

Artoo Detoo whistled hopefully, his dome spinning to look at the waiting Shuttle. They were transferring him! This could be the chance he had been waiting for! If he could provide the means, then perhaps Luke, or the Imperial Major, would take the opportunity. Artoo began to work fast, feeding codes and information to the mainframe. Then, as a speeder drew up behind him, he trundled into the elevator.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Rhovan stepped passed the youth as he lay, panting and groaning, on the floor. He must keep up the appearance of a proud interrogator who is loathed to give up his subject before the job is complete. "My Lord Vader, I must protest!"

 

"Must you?" Vader growled.

 

"I have brought him this far, Mi'Lord. To change venue and interrogator now may impact upon his responses." It was clear, however, Vader's being here had already had that effect.

 

"Then you will also transfer to the Executor."

 

Horror rattled through Rhovan. This wasn't what he had expected. "My Lord, I.. my place is here on Escaal."

 

"Your place is where I deem it to be!" Vader's voice held more than a hint of warning.

 

Rhovan felt a rush of consternation. He was being pulled away from the Network, from the system of operatives he had helped build over the last three years. He didn't dare argue with the Dark Lord, but how could he fight the Empire from the flagship of the fleet?

 

He glanced at the boy at his feet, at the youth he had tortured and battered for the good of his Resistance. The boy had suffered to protect what Rhovan was now being forced to leave. If Luke were to divulge information to Vader about himself, the Sith Lord might believe it, might be able to...

 

His thoughts trailed off as he realised his options were limited. He bowed his assent, playing the dutiful Imperial Officer as the Network Commander within him debated his meagre choices. "As you wish, my Lord."

 

He gestured quickly to the guards. "You heard Lord Vader. Pick him up!" he barked. He turned to the chair, picked up his bag and shouldered it as his men hauled Luke from the floor.

 

Luke yelled as they heaved him up, snapping his back, grating his ribs. They solidly locked his arms in theirs and turned him to the door. Vader reached down and took Luke's chin in his gloved hand once more, angling his head upward. He spoke almost gently. "We will speak at length, Young One, once my duties on Escaal are completed." He released Luke and stood aside allowing the guards to remove the boy from the room.

 

Any relief Luke had felt on being released from the line, at not being burned by the lightsaber blade, at being taken away from the interrogation suite, was snatched away with those few words. He was being taken to Vader's ship! He was being placed into Vader's custody where there would be no one to help him.

 

He wanted to fight them. He wanted to place his feet on the floor and struggle and shout, but he had no strength. His legs had little feeling and his throat was so dry and sore, he could barely manage a whisper. He could only allow them to do as they wanted with him.

 

Rhovan followed the Rebel pilot reluctantly, with Vader at his back.

 

Finding himself suddenly alone, Ayrn hesitated. He was sure the General would be unhappy with the prisoner's removal, particularly since Skywalker's termination order had already been signed and that, thus far, the pilot had given them scant information on either the Resistance or the Rebellion. Ayrn's loyalty lay with Mahkren, but he dared not question the Dark Lord. He ran his hand through his hair as he reluctantly realised that he would have to try and explain all this to the General. Feeling tackiness on his fingers he stopped and lifted his hand from his head, studying his digits.

 

 ooOOoo

 

General Mahkren crossed the prison courtyard from his speeder and stepped into the turbo lift. He glanced at the small blue droid working inside at the open control panel. "If this thing is working," he grumbled, "take me down to Maximum Security."

 

The droid tooted assent and the lift began to descend. Mahkren attempted to reel in his anger with the Dark Lord's ignorance of protocol. It would not do to take the wrong approach with Vader. He had to remain professional even if the Sith Lord did not!

 

 ooOOoo

Frowning, Ayrn brushed his thumb over his fingertips feeling the stickiness and wondering what could have made them sticky in this place. He hadn't touched anything except the water he had spilled.

 ooOOoo

 

Mahkren walked from the elevator and was met by the sight of the guards carrying the prisoner as they entered the reception area from the cell bay. Rhovan was behind the pilot and was being followed by the Dark Lord.

 

The General exchanged glances with his Primary Interrogator, who rolled his eyes and shrugged as he passed, heading with the Rebel for the turbo lift. Mahkren suddenly understood what was happening. His anger rolled, unhindered by thoughts of professionalism. "Lord Vader! What is the meaning of this?" he blustered and, as the black mask angled toward him, he knew he had just made a mistake.

 

"You dare question me, General?" Vader thundered smoothly, towering over the man.

 

Mahkren paled and took a step back. He swallowed nervously, not used to feeling inferior or afraid. "Forgive me, My Lord," he begged, bowing his head. "But that scum is responsible for my son's death. His execution order has been signed!""

 

_That scum, is my son!_

 

"Skywalker will pay further for his crimes, General," Vader assured him, biting back his annoyance with the officer. "But, it will not be here."

 

 ooOOoo

The water!

 

Ayrn picked up the bottle he had spilled and sniffed at it. It was odourless. He poured more water onto his fingers and gingerly dabbed the tip of his tongue. He grimaced at the taste. It was sweet!

 

Why would Rhovan be giving the Rebel sweetened water? Why would he be giving...

 

Nourishment!

 

Sugar was nourishment. The water was an energy drink! But why...?

 

_"I am the Resistance Commander."_

 

No! The thought was impossible.

 

_"I had hoped to spare you this when I ordered Taln to kill you."_

 

That was a strange thing for Rhovan to say, unless he was aware of the facts. But how?

 

_"Perhaps, if he is reluctant to tell us of the Resistance he will be more willing to discuss his Rebel Alliance?"_

 

Rhovan had turned the line of questioning away from the Resistance.

 

It was absurd! What he was thinking was ridiculous! Impossible. Rhovan couldn't be this 'Dade' as the Rebel had insisted. But why had he turned the interrogation away from the Resistance to the Rebellion? Why had he seemed reluctant for the pilot to discuss the red-headed medic?

 

The private talks Rhovan had with prisoners that always ended with their breaking, or with their premature deaths. And lately the information that had been gathered was usually old, or lead to very minor operatives who could offer no other leads.

 

_"I am the Resistance Commander."_

 

"Shit!" Ayrn breathed. All this time Rhovan had been the heart of the Network! He drew his side arm and dashed from the cell.

 

 ooOOoo

 

Rhovan frowned at the unexpected sight of an astromech droid working in the lift, but he stepped in after Luke and the guards. He turned and smiled as Vader continued to berate Mahkren. It was about time the man was brought down a notch or two and he wished briefly that he could have stayed to witness the event. It might have taken the edge off the apprehension he felt at the thought of his new posting on Vader's ship.

 

Luke dangled in the guards' grasp, frantic and desolate. Emotions caught in a tangled loop of panic. He could barely see where he was going, could barely make out his surroundings as his head pounded and his stomach rolled. He choked on the sweetened water as it rose in his throat. He retched and vomited liquid onto the floor by the treads of a droid.

 

_Droid?_

Then he was pulled backwards, groaning as the movement spun his senses.

 

The guards cursed at Luke's sickness, stepping further into the lift. Rhovan glanced at the youth with some concern. He would have to request medical attention for the Rebel when they reached Vader's ship. And...

 

"Stop them! He's Dade!" Ayrn stumbled down the steps into the reception area, gesturing at the turbo lift. "Rhovan's the Resistance!"

 

Rhovan's attention was ripped away from Luke by the desperate shout, his own stomach tightening at the betrayal in the words. He punched the door mechanism giving himself only a few moments respite in which to act.

 

Artoo whistled shrilly in the confines of the lift and activated his hastily formed programme within the Imperial system.

 

Vader turned immediately for the lift and saw, as the door closed shutting him off from Luke, the small blue droid he had ignored in the courtyard.

 

_"Yes, Artoo will be along in a few moments and he’ll release the ray shields…”_

 

It was a young voice from long ago. His voice: unencumbered by breathing apparatus and mask.

 

Artoo! It was impossible! It couldn't be! Not after all this time!

 

"Open the doors!" he roared, reaching out toward the elevator. If it was indeed Artoo, then he would be trying to rescue his young master. That droid was loyal to a fault.

 

The lights went out, plunging them into darkness as all power to the cellblock failed. Vader dropped his arm, shoulder's slumping momentarily, knowing they would be unable to contact the surface to alert the personnel there. Artoo would have made sure all lines of communication had been severed. Luke was being snatched from him by a droid he himself had once trusted with his life.

 

And he had to smile at the irony.

 ooOOoo

 

"Sir?" one of the guards questioned Rhovan as the lift swiftly rose toward the surface. "What was that about?"

 

"Stand fast," Rhovan bluffed, trying to think straight. How could that rodent of a man have worked out the truth?

 

"I'm not sure what's happening," he continued, loosening the strap of his holster and pulling out his side arm. He had to get out of here now his cover was blown. "But we should be prepared. Keep behind me, and keep a hold of him." He nodded at Luke, who seemed a little oblivious to it all.

 

"Yes, sir!" came the unsure reply.

 

Rhovan began to turn from them, then abruptly spun back around and blasted both guards. They crumpled in a heap taking Luke down with them.

 

Luke landed awkwardly, his body covered by those of the dead men. He yelled in shock, in fright, in pain and struggled against the weight covering him, images of stormtroopers piling on him returning to mind. Then hands pulled him out and he looked up, squinted and saw the barrel of a pistol pointing at his face.

 

Rhovan hesitated: his trigger finger tight.

 

He had given Taln instructions to kill this boy to protect the Network. He had tortured and tormented this boy to protect the Network. He had planned to kill Luke himself when the chance presented itself. And now he had that opportunity he was no longer sure. This boy.. No, this young man, had taken everything thrown at him, had endured it with a courage Rhovan had never encountered before.

 

Then there was Vader and the way the youth had reacted to the Dark Lord, the way he had appeared to gain strength from the malevolent presence rather than wilt under it. And so Rhovan stood with his gun pointed, staring at the battered features, at the understanding and quiet concern he saw there.

 

Artoo squawked with horror and bumped the Imperial aside. As Rhovan stumbled, Artoo inserted himself between him and his young master.

 

Rhovan righted himself, lowered his weapon and smiled at Luke who was gazing at the droid in dazed wonderment. He looked to the robot, recalling Taln mentioning the Rebel's Artoo unit.

 

"This your droid?" It seemed unlikely that this could be the same machine, unlikely that it could be trying to rescue his master! That would require a dedication he had never witnessed in a machine before.

 

Luke swallowed, croaked, "Yes."

 

Artoo also blooped in response.

 

"Okay," Rhovan sighed, anticipation spilling inside him. "Let's try this, huh?"

 

He placed his gun away, pushed his bag further back onto his shoulder and heaved Luke from the floor. He encircled the younger man's waist with his arm, held Luke's arm tight with his other hand. "I just hope you know what you're doing." He wasn't sure if he was addressing Luke, the droid, or himself.

 

The elevator stopped and the doors sliced open. Rhovan stepped cautiously out into the courtyard. All was as it should be. Lord Vader's shuttle sat a few metres away, lit by the floodlights around the prison walls. Mahkren's speeder and driver were by the turbo lift door and Rhovan nodded a silent 'good evening' to him as he helped the prisoner out, hoping the dead men could not be seen lying at the back of the turbo lift. He walked at a normal pace, tried not to hurry although every fibre of his being was telling him to move. Artoo trundled behind.

         

Luke shivered as the cool evening breeze hit his skin, lifting much needed warmth from it. He stared at the waiting shuttle in dismay. He dropped his head, closed his eyes, trying to keep in focus what was happening. He had thought he had seen Artoo, thought he had heard him. But how could he have? How could Artoo have been here? He was sure that Dade had shot the guards but he was still taking him to that ship, still taking him to Vader's ship. Was this just another trick? Were they still trying to get him to talk?

 

 He sagged into the man's hold as his feet hit the steep incline of the ramp.

 

Rhovan dragged Luke upward, pulling him into the passenger compartment and placing him on the floor as gently as he could. Artoo Detoo scooted to Luke's side as Rhovan dropped the bag from his shoulder onto the floor. Griping his blaster, he stepped over Luke, making his way to the cockpit door, where he paused.

 

He was surprised, but relieved, to find the shuttle devoid of all personnel apart from the pilot and co-pilot who were now powering up the shuttle's engines. He glanced out of the window expecting to see the Dark Lord emerge from the elevator and make his way toward the ship, but as yet, there was nothing. Nothing, apart from an empty elevator sitting with an open portal…

 

That worried him. The guard's bodies could be discovered at anytime.

 

"Where's Lord Vader?" the Imperial pilot enquired.

 

"Still speaking with the General," Rhovan answered, shortly. He gestured behind him to the passenger area and addressed the co-pilot. "Check on the prisoner."

 

The man frowned, but complied with his superior's request. "Yes, sir," he answered pulling himself from his chair and squeezing past the Major.

 

Rhovan kept his gaze on the elevator. "Raise the ramp and close the hatch," he ordered.

 

"Sir?" the pilot questioned.

 

"Hey!" the co-pilot exclaimed. "What's this droid doing here!"

 

Rhovan turned, pulled off a shot and felled the co-pilot. The man dropped silently beside Luke. Rhovan levelled the gun at the pilot. "Take us up. Now!"

 

"But..." the man stared down the barrel of the gun. "Yes, Sir."

 

"Easy," Rhovan warned, watching the pilot work. "We don't want to let anyone know something's amiss here now, do we?"

 

He ignored Luke's moaning from the passenger compartment as they lifted off, as they headed upward through the atmosphere and into space. Still nothing from the com, no order's to turn back. "Make for the Executor as though you were on normal approach, then veer off and make the jump."

 

"Where are we going?" The pilot sounded sullen, but resigned to his fate.

 

Good question.

 

"Droid!" Rhovan called. "We need co-ordinates."

 

Artoo was reluctant to leave Luke's side, but he trundled into the cockpit and plugged into the main computer. His first task was to sever all links to the Executor's mainframe then he fed in the co-ordinates of the Alliance outpost that he and Luke had left three weeks before with Red Squad.

 

Rhovan watched the readout with a smile. The base was close enough for a short jump in a snub fighter, but remote enough to be hidden. "You have what you need," he told the pilot, watching the Super Star Destroyer grow in size as they drew near it. "Now punch it!"

 ooOOoo

 

"Admiral Ozzel, we have Lord Vader on approach."

 

Ozzel stepped over to the scanners and gave them a cursory glance. "Prepare the docking bay. Have the brig staff me..."

 

"Sir? What's he doing?" the scanner controller questioned breaking in on Ozzel.

 

The Admiral looked back at the scanner, then turned to the view port as the Dark Lord's shuttle veered sharply away and disappeared into hyperspace.

 

"What the hell...?"

 

 ooOOoo

Vader looked up and through the gloom ignoring the General barking orders to the detention centre personnel to get the power back on line, to contact the surface and alert them to the Rebel's escape. He reached out, searched through the Force and found Luke's ebbing presence. It was too late; the youth was travelling away from him. Luke had been snatched from him again, and disappointment hung heavy within him, disappointment and a feeling of...

 

_... loss..._

 

... frustration.

 

He had had him! He had had his son in his grasp and circumstances had suddenly and unexpectedly wrenched him away! He stilled his chagrin, turning his focus to Luke. The boy was barely aware of his surroundings, still wrapped in confusion and disorder.

 

The Dark Lord brushed softly against his son's consciousness, smoothing out some of the chaos, hushing the heaving emotions with a dark stillness, bringing Luke some peace. And, before Luke was moved too far out of range for him to reach, he spoke again through the Force, leaving one thought behind for his son to ponder during his recovery.

 

They would meet again, and soon, and he would be better prepared. He would not allow his feelings from his past interfere with the future again. The Emperor may underestimate the importance of Luke's existence, the boy's burgeoning powers, but he did not. Luke had already demonstrated the strength he possessed, if only on a small scale. He had withheld against the most appalling pain and torment and from this he had shown a depth of darkness that delighted the Dark Lord. Luke would make a powerful Sith.

 

The lights glared suddenly to life. Mahkren sighed with relief. "Get on the Com, alert security to what's happened!"

 

"Belay those orders," Vader growled, turning to Mahkren as he folded away his feelings for his son and allowed his anger to surge forward. "Skywalker is gone, General. And you and your personnel, have much to explain."

 

"My Lord, I assure you that everything..."

 

"Do not give me false assurances, General," Vader warned, his voice threatening. "I shall be remaining on Escaal, and _I_ will restore the order you have lost."

 

"My Lord," the General bowed his head, fighting to keep his large frame from trembling. "The Resistance is deeply embedded within our own Forces. If the Primary Interr..."

 

"Then we shall have to dig it out." Vader announced.

 

On hearing this Ayrn swallowed, gathered his courage and stepped forward. "I think," he started slowly, voice trembling, but seeing a way to appease his dark superior, "I know of a red-headed medic who might be able to give us a few leads."

 

Vader regarded the thin man before him. Here was the type of officer he detested, the type who took pleasure for pleasure's sake in the pain of others. However, he was ambitious, showed courage and for the moment may prove useful. "Then have him brought to me, Major!"

 

And Mahkren knew then that he had just lost his command.

 ooOOoo

 

Luke lay on his side on the floor staring at the face of the dead man next to him. It was men, like this one, who had beaten him, placed cuffs on his wrists and hung him from a line. They had dragged him from cell to cell, forced him to stand, held him down as the droid had approached with its full needle.

 

"Back off," he whispered at the corpse. He could feel the vibration of the shuttle beneath him, could feel it rattle his beleaguered body, but the pain didn't matter anymore, not now they were taking him to Vader's ship. The dead man was taking him to Vader's ship. He closed his eyes, feeling weary, wishing for the darkness to come.

 

_Luke._

 

He moaned and tried to turn away from the voice in his head, tried to move from the presence he felt settle around him, tried to struggle against what was in his mind. The cold touch stroked him, folded about him, held him close and he saw...

 

_...Artoo Detoo moving close to figure lying on a floor..._

_... me?..._

_... Dade holding a pistol at a man's head... Vader stranded in darkness..._

 

The images flickered, strobed quickly behind his eyes.

 

_... The dead man beside him... a shuttle jumping to hyperspace...and an empty cell..._

_... an empty cell..._

And he understood what the voice was telling him, showing him, and with the understanding came some clarity, some relief.

 

_We will talk at length, Young One..._

 

"No..." he murmured, into the blackness, into the void where the presence was. He pulled against the unpleasant allure of the words, but found himself abruptly released. He staggered back falling against the soft buffer of an approaching faint. "..don't wan... talk..."

 

Rhovan prodded the pilot into the passenger compartment with the muzzle of his pistol, forcing him to pull the dead man away from Luke. The youth was shivering, mumbling in his confused state, but Rhovan couldn't make out what he was saying.

 

"Remove your jacket. Take the cuffs and shackles off him," he told the other man, throwing him a key. "Put them on yourself." He watched as the man complied, as the bloodied bands were placed around another's wrists. Then he took the key back and motioned toward the seating area. "Now sit, and don't move until I tell you."

 

The Primary Interrogator knelt by Luke, putting his pistol down and dragging an emergency medical pack from under the seating. He broke it open, rummaging through it. He looked at the semi-conscious boy knowing there really wasn't a lot he could do for him bar making him a little more comfortable. He did know that the boy needed fluids.

 

He took the rehydration kit from the case and fixed it to Luke's inner arm with the straps supplied. Luke flinched at the touch of his hands, the firm fabric straps, mumbling incoherently.

 

"Easy, Luke," Rhovan soothed. Pausing to allow Luke to settle, he slipped a clear bag of saline solution into the casing before switching it on. He watched the small readout display anxiously and smiled when it registered that the automatic needle-feed had been accurately deployed. He winced at the deep, oozing gashes marking Luke's wrists and lifted some dressings from the med kit.

 

He bandaged the ragged flesh carefully.

 

Luke shivered again, and Rhovan realised the youth was cold. He glanced around, his eyes landing on the dead man. He stripped the jacket from him and rolled it into a pillow that he placed under Luke's head. He covered his legs with the pilot's jacket before stripping out of his own and putting it across Luke's shoulders.

 

The youth moaned and turned his head into the unexpected softness below it. The analeptic drug was wearing off, seeping slowly from his system, and soon Luke would be able to sleep. The jacket slipped from his shoulder and Rhovan replaced it. "Won't be long now, Luke," he reassured him. "A little while more, and you'll be home."

 

Rhovan grimaced to himself at the word. In a few hours they would be at the Rebel base Luke had tried so desperately to keep from him and the Empire.

 

_... home..._

 

The word and the familiar voice halted Luke's fall into the darkening stuporand he dragged open his eyes, suddenly afraid. He squinted, forced himself to focus on the figure kneeling above him. "L... leave... me..."

 

"You're safe, Luke," Rhovan reassured him. "You're going home."

_... home..._

_... Tatooine..._

_... warm evening air scented by freshly baked paq scones..._

 

He tried to shake his head. Tried to deny his tormentor. This was a trick. The pictures in his head had shown him hope, Dade would take it away as he had before. "Ly... ing," he murmured, closing his eyes resigned to his fate. "Va..der.."

 

"Not here. Vader's not here, Luke." Rhovan watched as Luke's body slackenedand relaxed.

_"You are his weakness, Luke."_

 

_He turned his head, gazed at his aunt sitting by his side. The suns were lower, the wind a little stronger. She took the cloth away from his gashed wrist_

_"Aunt Beru?"_

_She smiled gently as a gust of air pulled at his hair, whipping it over his face. She reached to him, placed a warm palm against his sore cheek. "We should get in, its bedtime and you can sleep now."_

_"Can I stay this time?"_

_"For a little while," she agreed. "Until it's time to wake up."_

_He stood up, wincing as his muscles protested the movement, then bent and helped his aunt stand. Together they descended into their home._

Artoo blooped quietly beside his master as Luke spoke from his dreams. Rhovan smiled at the devoted droid. He might never find out exactly what the droid had done, or how he had pulled it off, but he was grateful to the little machine. He lifted his gun, rested his hand on the droid's dome as he stood.

 

"I'm sure he'll be fine," he reassured Artoo. "It might take a while, but with the right medical attention he'll be fine." In physical terms, Rhovan was sure the boy would make a complete recovery, but to recover emotionally and mentally would take a greater effort. However, the youth had shown courage and resilience and he hoped that both would continue to serve him during his convalescence.

 

The Imperial Pilot scoffed, but Rhovan ignored him as he turned and sat opposite, watching him, watching Luke, as the shuttle took them closer to the Rebel outpost and further away from Escaal and the Network. He was loathed to leave it behind, loathed to leave the life he had there, but the Network would survive without him, he knew. They would fall silent, regroup and reorganise themselves. They would bide their time until this crisis had passed and then the lines would re-open and the Resistance's work would resume and continue as it had before his arrival, as it had for the twenty years of the Empire's rule.

 

His own future, however, was less clear and back in the hands of the Rebel Alliance. He glanced at Luke now lying still, chest slowly rising and falling with each shallow breath. He regretted the boy's pain, but he did not regret his actions. Luke was not the first captive he had questioned and tortured for the good of the Resistance. Many had suffered and died, at his commands, for the good of the cause.

 

However, Luke's importance to the Empire had been a surprise. Luke's importance to Vader was fascinating. There seemed to be a connection between them, a history and Rhovan wondered how much the Alliance actually knew about their Jedi pilot.

 

He drew the bag from the floor and took out the lightsaber he had hidden there. He didn't know why he had placed it the bag with the water bottles. He didn't know why he had brought it into the interrogation room, or why he had lifted it before they left. But he had somehow known that it was important to Luke and he had acted purely on a whim.

 

He looked up, saw the Imperial pilot glaring at him and at the lightsaber, and he tucked it away. Placing the bag on the floor, he held his pistol loosely in his hands avoiding further eye contact with his captive. He felt sorry for the Imperial. The Alliance would lock them both up and question them, though he was sure their methods were not quite as harsh. Rough, perhaps, but not as severe as Imperial methods, as his methods.

 

Not that he would resist.

 

He might have worn the black uniform but it was merely a means to an end, an attempt to work from inside against the Empire as his orders had dictated. However, even his superiors would be uncomfortable with position he had gained, the duties he’d had to perform. He hoped that bringing Luke back to them, despite what he had done to the boy, would stand in his favour. He hoped he could convince them still of his true intentions, that he hadn‘t strayed from the true purpose of his mandate, hoped he could convince them he could continue to be an asset to them.

 

Rhovan settled back for the journey, trying to clear his mind and tame his concerns as the shuttle carried them on in a silence broken only by Luke's wordless murmurs, and the whine of Artoo's servo motors as he fussed around his master.

 

Only a few hours and they would both be home...

 

ooOOoo

**Continued in Dark Times: Chapter Two - Pale Shelter**


	3. Pale Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imperial Interrogation Specialist (and secret resistance operative) Major Erwin Rhovan returns Luke Skywalker to the Alliance. However, it does not take long before Darth Vader is on their trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the sudden HUGE letters that centre themselves near the end of this chapter . I have spent the last hour trying to reduce the size but nothing I have tried has worked, i.e. deleting and re-posting, deleting just that sentence and typing it onto the document, re-sizing the original text and copying and re-pasting. If anyone has any ideas I'd love to hear them!

"Dark Times" - Chapter Two:

Pale Shelter

                      

                                                    

 

In stillness he stood.

 

In stillness and in darkness as the Force twisted his life around him. It had been a long time since the threads of his life had unravelled from his control, a long time since he had felt the cold passion of the Dark Side burn so fiercely within. It had been a long time since he had wanted something so badly, since he had yearned for something that was not his master’s bidding, a long time since…

 

_“I’m not the Jedi I should be. I want more, and I know I shouldn’t.”_

 

He allowed the respirator to draw in a cooling breath, though it burned in his ruined lungs as it always did. He should not be recalling this, should not be wallowing in a past that no longer had any meaning for him, a past that belonged to another man. Anakin Skywalker no longer existed within him. His dying was painful and prolonged; beginning with the death of Jedi Master Mace Windu, ending on the black sand of Mustafar.

 

Anakin Skywalker was dead and yet still the memories of the past haunted him, and they seemed to crowd closer as time moved on.

 

There was a rush of sound and he opened his eyes to stare into the open doorway of the interrogation suite and watched as the cleansing downpour of water washed away the blood and sweat of the prisoner who had, only a few moments before, been hanging from the ceiling pleading not to be further harmed.

 

His son.

 

_We have a son, Padme._

 

The pain was sharp, keen, slicing bitterly through the defences he had constructed over the last two decades. And he was that boy again freshly encased in a suite of armour, hidden behind a mask, staggering from the weight of his new environment and the weight of grief. He had killed his wife, he had killed his child, he had killed his future.

 

Padme’s news of a child had shaken him, sending his thoughts and emotions reeling as all the complications of their secret life had suddenly become amplified. A child…

 

A child he had thought dead. A child who had been laid to rest while still in his mother’s womb. A child he had murdered when he had killed her with his rage.

 

_A son…_

 

With another measured breath he swallowed thickly, fighting to push away the unwelcome thoughts and feelings that had, more and more since his discovery of Luke Skywalker’s existence, been seeping through to haunt him. He had thought the pain of his life was healing, had devoted himself to the Dark Side and Palpatine’s teachings and had filled his days with dedication to his chosen path. And it was only now, after seeing his son, after being with him, after having a few moments contact, did he realise how empty his life had actually become.

 

And how, briefly, his son had filled that void. He was bereft, desperate and terrified as the stark abyss of his existence echoed emptily around him.  

 

_I want more…_

 

Vader clenched his fists, and closed his eyes against the consternation he felt descending. He drew upon the Force, gathered it to him, nurturing his anger against the despair, building a inferno of rage to flame within, using it as a crutch, as a focus. He was not afraid, he was stronger than he’d ever been. His darkness thrummed with potency, and this could only increase when he claimed what was rightfully his, when he retrieved the boy who had been snatched from him, when Luke realised that…

 

_“…together you and I can rule the galaxy. Make things the way we want them to be.”_

 

…his place belonged with his father.

 

“M..my… Lord?”

 

Vader grimaced with distaste at the thin, nervous voice that brought him from his reverie. Major Ayrn was a parasite, a disgusting parody of a human who took pleasure in the pain of others for his own advancement, his own enjoyment. He would soon fulfil his usefulness and be disposed of.

 

“What is it, Major?” Vader kept his back to him, kept his gaze on the empty cell.

 

“We have secured the Medic’s arrest. He will be here shortly.”

 

“What of Skywalker?” How strange it was to say that name and mean another. “Do we have the shuttle’s trajectory?”

 

“Yes, My Lord,” Ayrn conveyed with growing confidence. “Admiral Ozzel reports several possible destinations for the shuttle, he’s trying to narrow it down.”

 

“You have done well, Major,” Vader spoke almost absently, already disregarding the man’s presence. “Have the medic brought to me, and report back as soon as you have the co-ordinates for the Rebel base.”

 

“Yes, sir.“ Ayrn bowed dutifully, feeling thrilled to be of service to Vader, feeling sure that his career with the Empire was finally taking him places, although he was disappointed not to have been asked to take part in the Rebel Medic’s interrogation. He would have been honoured to have stepped into the vacant post left by Rhovan’s defection. Being an interrogator meant position and power, respect. “My Lord,” he began tentatively. “May I suggest that I.. uh.. assist with the Medic’s interrogation? I have extensive knowledge of how…”

 

Vader fought the flame of anger that briefly flashed. ”You have your orders, Major.”

 

“Of course, My Lord,” Frustrated Ayrn turned to leave…

 

Vader watched the officer step away considering the man, his suggestion and the ambition that burned within the thin body. Perhaps there was another task that Ayrn could fulfil and keeping him close and under his own observation may prove prudent. “Major?”

 

“Yes, my Lord?”

 

“Muster a detachment of troops. Take them into the city, make arrests.”

 

Ayrn frowned in confusion. “Who am I arresting, sir?”

 

“Anyone you choose, Major. Make an example of them, allow the citizens of Escaal to view the consequences of harbouring Rebels. Do you understand?”

 

A sly smile curled Ayrn’s lips. “I do, my Lord.”

 

“Then you may return here and assist me.”

 

The curl became an open grin. “Thank you, My Lord, I will not disappoint you.”

 

The showers in the room stopped as the man left; the interrogation suite was clean and ready for its next occupant. The Network Medic was about to find out what it means to betray his Empire, as was Escaal.

 

And soon, once he had the co-ordinates for the Rebels’ hiding place from Ozzel, his son and his friends would learn the very same lesson.

 

 

ooOOoo

 

 

With barely disguised anger and frustration, Han Solo stripped off his gloves and threw them down upon the control console before him. He sat quietly for a moment listening to the engines of the Millennium Falcon wane and die as Chewbacca shut down her systems and watched the activity of the small rebel outpost from the cockpit window. There were pilots and technicians working on the small squads of X- and Y-Wing snub fighters, droids unloading a small cargo vessel that had come in a few hours before him, ground troopers marking the perimeter of the base and prefabricated buildings being erected by teams of droids and personnel.

 

The base, set high in a mountainous region of Adralii VI, was only a few months old and still in the process of being staffed and developed. After Yavin the Alliance had scattered its forces into smaller groups, not wishing to risk all of their assets in one large base. Command hoped that by doing so it could safeguard its strength until a more secure, and secluded, main outpost could be found and established. However, it had meant communications and supply difficulties between garrisons, but these were small prices to pay to remain safe and hidden.  It was just these problems that had given Solo a steady income over the last two years as he and Chewbacca ferried supplies, personnel and communiqués from base to base.

 

Since Yavin the Rebellion hadn't been having a lot of success, and was doing well just to survive. Worlds that had given the Alliance support were invaded and razed, convoys of supplies were frequently lost; two of the smaller outposts were discovered and destroyed. Several others abandoned in fear that captured personnel would reveal their whereabouts under torture. Not a lot of success until three weeks ago when, acting on intelligence from the Escaal Resistance Network, Red Squad - based on Ra'imar - had taken out a munitions plant and weapon's development programme. But in doing so, it had lost pilots. It had lost Luke Skywalker.

 

Missing In Action.

 

It would have been better if they had said "Killed in Action."  Dead meant dead. Dead meant everyone else could go on, knowing what had happened. Missing meant no-one knew what the hell was happening. Missing meant imaginations ran overtime thinking the worst and hoping for the best. Except Han had a good idea what had happened to Luke - what was still happening to Luke.

 

When word had reached them on Adralii about the mission, about Luke's loss, Han had immediately taken the Falcon to Escaal, only to find it was a closed system. Not even Imperial vessels were being allowed to land or take off. All ships entering the system were boarded and the crew questioned, cargo inspected. Han had obeyed the Imperial demands to haul to and be boarded. He allowed them to search his ship and had concocted a story that had seemed to satisfy the Imperial officer as his false documents were inspected. He'd taken the opportunity to ask a few questions of his own.

 

_The officer shrugged at the question, answered in dull, bored tones, and it was obvious that he had already been asked this many times in the last few days. "I've no idea how long the restrictions will last." He offered Han his documents back._

_Han shoved his fake vehicle and personal identifications into the back pocket of his pants. "What's all the fuss about anyway_?" _he asked as casually as he could._

_"We routed a Rebel attack a few days ago. One of their pilots was shot down. They're looking for him."_

_Relief flooded Han. Luke was alive and not in Imperial custody. He looked sceptically at the man. "All of this for one Rebel?"_

 

_The Imperial looked sharply at him. "We've found that one Rebel can lead us to many more, if the right questions are asked," he informed Han, stiffly._

_"Mind if we hang around for a while, see if you get him? I'm kinda anxious not to lose the haulage contract and if the restrictions are lifted then...."_

_"Just don't cross into the exclusion zone, Spacer," the officer told him, "and be prepared to be boarded and searched again.”_

_"Sure, sure. No problem. Thanks."_

 

So he and Chewie had stayed, only one ship of a growing number waiting in that sector of space for the restrictions to be lifted, or for fuel and supplies to run low forcing them to leave. They monitored the Imperial Com systems, patched into the local holonet and watched the news broadcasts. As the days passed they were boarded more often and Han repeated his story time and time again for bored, young junior officers. The longer they stayed, and with each repetition, the story seemed to get weaker and weaker and Han knew they were on borrowed time.

 

He'd been dozing in the passenger compartment when Chewie had wakened him and he'd pulled himself from the acceleration couch and followed the Wookiee to the cockpit. Both the Com and the holonet were buzzing with excited voices and animated presenters. Han only needed to hear the first few words before shutting both off.

 

_"We have him!"_

_"Breaking news! Although it has not been confirmed as yet by Imperial High Command, there have been reliable reports that a suspect was, only moments ago, arrested after a brief skirmish in Bellard Park. Although wounded...."_

 

_"Shit!" Han cursed angrily, feeling helpless, wanting to gun the engines and take the Falcon down in a reckless attempt at a rescue. Chewie wailed and barked, placed a restraining hand on Han's shoulder._

_"Maybe not, Luke? Of course it's Luke!  And we can't get near him!" His words were angry, grief stricken and frustrated._

_Chewie rumbled softly._

_"Yeah, I know Chewie, me too."_

They'd remained where they were for a few more days considering options, formulating rescue plans and discarding them as unworkable. They checked in on the Com from time to time anxious to hear word of the captive but, apart from reports confirming the prisoner was the Rebel pilot, there had been very little else until the Falcon's scanners had picked up a snatch of conversation.

 

_"What is the prisoner's status?"_

_"The droid's administered another dose, sir."_

_"Any sign of submission?"_

_"No, sir. But he's been taking more shocks."_

_"No-one goes to him, until I arrive, even if he breaks. Am I clear?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_Chewie switched the Com off._

_"That's it!" Han burst. "We're goin' in for him!" His hands worked quickly over the Falcon's controls, firing up the sub-light engines. Beside him Chewie barked out a question.  "I don't know, Chewie. I'll think of something. We've gotta get the kid out!"_

_Chewie argued more, howling a logic Han wanted to ignore. Luke would not wish for Han to come to harm, would be appalled if they were to die for him. But, as Han turned the ship, an alarm klaxxoned and he glanced to the scanners and groaned at the sight of the approaching Imperial ship.  "Stand fast and prepare to be boarded," a voice barked over the com._

They had been searched again, identification checked again, but this time they had been ordered to leave the area or be arrested. They had lingered too long and their luck had run out. Han had tried to argue, tried to convince the young officer to allow them to stay a little longer without showing his own sense of desperation. He needed time, needed to figure out how to get past the blockade and patrols, needed to figure out how to get to Luke. But the Imperial had turned his back on them and had walked from the Falcon his orders clear.  Again Chewbacca grunted softly, repeating his arguments for Han to save himself for another day, that a useless sacrifice was not what their young friend would want. And as they had reluctantly turned the Falcon away from Escaal, away from Luke, as they prepared to make the jump to light speed, another Imperial Star destroyer had arrived, one that dwarfed all the others. A command ship.

 

And Han was more afraid for Luke than ever, and his own feelings of guilt at having to turn his back on his friend were overwhelming.

 

Han pulled his thoughts away from the memories of the last few days and brushed his hands through his hair, stifled a yawn. Chewie softly grunted beside him, bringing his attention away from the past few weeks and days, away from his worry about Luke, to the present time. "Yeah, start the re-fuelling. See if you can rustle up some supplies, too," Han requested, and then he turned and shouted at the Wookiee's retreating back. "But none of that dried emergency stuff!" Then he sat quietly back, watching from the cockpit, as his first mate crossed the open landing pad and as a small figure, casually dressed in a blue jump suit appeared from the nearest building and approached the Falcon's ramp. He had no idea what he was going to tell the Princess Leia Organa.

 

       He remained where he was, waiting for her and remembering their argument from three weeks previous.

 

_"You can't go!" The Princess stated firmly, her voice betraying her concern. "The Alliance can't afford...."_

_"..to lose Luke!" Han finished for her._

_"No! That's not...." she burst angrily. Then she stopped herself and sighed, lowered her head, closed her eyes as though warding off an impending headache. "I want Luke back as much as you, Han, but we can't afford to lose anyone else at this stage," she said, more calmly. "That includes you and Chewbacca. The resistance Network on Escaal gave us assurances that they would aid any pilot shot down during the attack. We need to wait for their signal that they have him."_

_"And if they can't get a signal out? If they couldn't find Luke? If...."_

_"And what good will you be to them?" Leia wanted to know. "To Luke? It makes better sense to wait for the signal."_

_"We're goin', now," Han told her._

 

_"Han, I can't let you..." She stopped at the sudden clouding of the Corellian's face, knew she'd just said the wrong thing._

 

_"I'd like to see you stop me!" he yelled in sudden fury. "Just because I've stuck around running errands for you doesn't make me Alliance property! And we're talkin' about Luke! Luke! Who wouldn't think twice about crossing the Galaxy to save you!"_

_She had wilted then, shoulders slumped with worry and grief. "I know," She informed him._

_“So, I'm goin'," he told her again more softly this time, seeing her reaction._

_"I'll see what supplies I can get you."_

_"Thanks."_

 

Soft footsteps from behind pulled him from his reverie. “Han?”

 

"You were right," he spoke softly as the princess slipped into Chewie's co-pilot seat. "We didn't do any good. We just sat there, floating in space, while they took him. And then we left him."

 

The princess chilled at Han’s desolate words. "They took him? Are you sure?"

 

"Yeah. Never mentioned him by name, but they got him. It was all over the Com channels."

 

Leia slumped into the chair and closed her eyes in grief as all her hopes for Luke shattered around her. This is what she had been afraid of all these weeks since she was told of his loss, this is what had crept insidiously into her mind during quiet moments, and her sub-consciousness had plagued her dreams with hideous images of Luke in Imperial hands. “We have to let Ra’imar Command know. Prepare them for immediate evacuation.”

 

Han felt anger immediately bridle at the unspoken insinuation in Leia’s words, but he stilled the harsh words he wanted to throw at her, quickly stifled his feelings as he understood what the princess was doing. Leia was thinking like a leader, was considering the larger picture and not the individual person. Luke was too painful to think of, the thought of Luke being tormented and broken was torture itself to the Princess and so she concentrated on the Rebellion so as not to feel her own anguish, her own loss.

 

“Luke’s strong,” he said softly, in quiet defence of his friend. He felt empty, helpless.

 

“I know he is,” Leia whispered as she gazed out at the activity of the Rebel base. “He’ll give us the time we need to evacuate.”

 

“Princess…” Han began, his tone low. He wanted to reach out to her, wanted to shake her from her duty and responsibilities and reach the woman he knew was in pain under the calm exterior.

 

She kept her gaze away from him, kept looking out of the cockpit. “Don’t, Han… Please don’t…”

 

“Just don’t give up on him, okay?”

 

She pulled herself from chair, caught his eyes for the first time. “You’re going back out after him,” she realised suddenly. “Han, you’ll only be placing yourself and Chewbacca at further risk and…”

 

“Stop it!” he barked, a little too harshly.

 

Leia glared at him and then turned away, heading for the doorway.

 

 “Stop being the Princess,” Han called at her back. “Stop being the sensible commander. Stop thinking with your head and tell me what you’d really want to do!”

 

Her footsteps faltered, and she paused at the door, holding on to the side for support. “I’d want to get him back, Han,” she whispered hoarsely without looking back, feeling tears begin to swell and spill. “I’d want to get him back…”

 

ooOOoo

 

 

 “Sensor sweep complete. Nothing out here but dead space, sir.”

 

“I copy, Red Four,” Wedge Antilles acknowledged evenly as he pulled his X-Wing into a wide U-turn.  “Red Three, Red Six, we’re outta here. Rendezvous with Red Leader at six point four.”

 

“Copy that,” came the replies.

 

Wedge felt himself being pressed farther into his acceleration chair as he increased the X-Wing’s speed toward the squad’s meeting point. He was looking forward to getting back to the base on Ra’imar and out of the cockpit he’d been cramped in for the last six hours of the patrol. He loved flying, but he hated this hiding and waiting game they seemed to be playing with Empire. The routine patrols were boring but he knew they played an important role in protecting the base, especially since Ra’imar was too small to warrant an expensive shield generator or long range sensors. It was the fighter patrols that gave the outpost its first line of defence against any potential threat.

 

He yawned, tried to stretch his aching muscles in the tight confines of the cockpit. Patrols had been increased since the Escaal raid, since command had become jittery about possible repercussions against the Alliance if the Empire somehow traced the guilty fighter squad to Ra’imar; since Luke Skywalker had been shot down and his fate remained unknown.

 

Wedge grimaced as his thoughts turned towards his lost friend once more. He should have followed Luke down, he should have disobeyed Skywalker’s order and gone after him. No one knew if he was alive or dead, if he was captured or remained free, or if the Escaal Resistance Network had picked him up and had him hidden. It was over three weeks since the attack, over three weeks of silence and Wedge was beginning to succumb to the same thought as many of his comrades -  Luke must dead, he must have been killed as his crippled fighter spiralled out of control in the planet’s atmosphere.

 

Dammit! He should have followed him down.

 

A tone sounded in the cockpit and he checked his instruments as Red Three’s voice broke over the com.

 

“Sir? A small ship has dropped out of hyperspace on the edge of the system.”

 

“I see it,” Wedge responded coolly as he pulled himself from his thoughts to more immediate matters. He keyed his com again. “Red Leader,” he called, watching the craft on his sensors.  “We have an unidentified ship in sector four, its current flight path will take it straight to the base.”

 

“I have him,” Commander Narra told him. “We’re heading your way, Red Two. Intercept and query.”

 

“Copy, Red Leader. Moving to intercept. Reds Four and Six with me.” Wedge swung the fighter around and accelerated toward the invading vessel. He drew in a breath of recognition as he drew nearer. “We have an Imperial shuttle! Repeat, we have an Imperial shuttle!”

 

“Lock S-foils in attack position,” Narra commanded with an edge to his voice. “Prepare to jam its transmissions. Red Two, find out what it’s doing here.”

 

Wedge drew along side the shuttle as Reds Four and Six fell in behind, drawing the Imperial craft into their crosshairs. Wedge opened his com on an Imperial channel. “State your business in this sector.”

 

There was a burst of static and then “…etwork Commander Dade of the Escaal Resistance…”

 

Wedge felt a start of adrenaline spike through him. _Escaal?_

 

“…I need landing co-ordinates and a trauma team to meet us.”

 

Narra came along the opposite side from Wedge. “What verification can you give us that you are who you say you are?”

 

All the X-Wing pilots winced as high-pitched droid noise babbled over the com. Wedge glanced that the translation and grinned. “That’s Artoo Detoo! He says they have Luke, but….”

 

“Lieutenant Commander Skywalker is injured,” the stranger’s voice continued with some urgency. “He needs immediate medical assistance.”

 

“We copy that,” Narra answered. “Wedge, escort them down.”

 

“Yes, sir!’ He switched channels as he veered away, checking his rear scanners and making sure the shuttle was behind him. “Base, this is Red Two. Incoming shuttle is a friendly. They need the EMT on touch down.”

 

“Acknowledge, Red Two. You both have clearance to land. Emergency medical team will meet you.”

 

Wedge glanced starboard as the shuttle, matching his speed, drew alongside and together they approached Ra’imar. They entered the atmosphere of the planet, dropped below the cloud cover and followed the shore of a massive lake. Wedge cut back his speed as the Rebel outpost came into view. A collection of prefabricated buildings surrounded a large landing area. As he brought the fighter down he could see medical personnel running from the field hospital and ground infantry cordoning off the landing zone as the shuttle gently touched down.

 

Wedge released his straps as his canopy lifted and was climbing out of the X-Wing before his ground crew could get the ladder into place. He slid to the ground and ran toward the shuttle as its ramp lowered. As he ran he pulled his helmet from his head and let it drop to the ground.

 

“Hey, Antilles!” The chief tech called as she stooped to pick up the discarded helmet. “What’s going on?”

 

“It’s Luke!” Wedge shouted back over his shoulder as he broke through the line of troopers and sprinted up the ramp after the medics ignoring the soldiers’ shouts to halt.  It was the sight that greeted him within the vessel that stunned him and slowed his steps. There was a dead man lying crumpled near the rear of the passenger compartment, a sullen Imperial pilot was being escorted from the cockpit by two Alliance troopers and another Imperial was kneeling by a prone figure on the floor and speaking quickly to the medics.

 

Wedge swallowed, grimaced in disgust at the insignia that adorned the man’s dark uniform; this man was an Imperial Interrogation Specialist, and expert in various forms of torture and coercion. Antilles glanced at the person on the floor as the medics carefully lifted two uniform jackets from the still body as they began assessing his physical condition. Wedge heard snatches of conversation from the medical team and from the Imperial who was feeding them information.

 

“Localised blaster burn….”

 

“Compression of the spine….”

 

“Fractures to the….”

 

“Concussion….”

 

“He’s hypotensive….”

 

He watched them work, taking in the bruised and bloodied condition of the body, the swollen contusions that disfigured the face, the distended hands and deep lacerations of the wrists. And a deep simmering rage rose as he realised who the patient was and what had happened to him.

 

Luke had been tortured.

 

“What did you do?” He asked quietly, fixing his eyes on the Imperial officer. “What did you do to him?”

 

Major Erwin Rhovan glanced up at the pilot as the dark-haired young man took a step closer. He saw the anger in the dark eyes, heard the danger in the tight voice. He stood, leaving Skywalker in the capable hands of the Rebel medics and faced the pilot, spreading his arms out, palms up, showing surrender.  “It isn’t what you think,” he said evenly, carefully watching the smaller man, knowing his own situation had become precarious and uncertain.

 

One of the medics suddenly stood up between the two men. He faced Wedge. “Lieutenant, you need to back off and let us work.”

 

There was a groan from the floor, a mumbled protest as the other medics moved Luke onto a back-board and strapped his body firmly in place to prevent any movement that could exacerbate his spinal injury.

 

Wedge took a concerned step forward, but the medic placed a hand on his chest. “Let us work, Wedge.”

 

Rhovan’s eyes narrowed with interest; so this was Wedge, this is who Skywalker named when the pain became too much and then had to struggle to protect. This was, more than likely, Skywalker’s wing-man.

 

“Back off, Wedge,” the medic repeated, softly.

 

“Sir?” A female voice questioned and a small hand rested on his arm. Wedge turned to find an Infantry Non-com at his side. “This way, sir.”

 

Wedge knew they were right, knew there was nothing he could do for Luke, nothing he could say to the Imperial that would make any difference to what had happened to Luke and it probably wouldn’t have made him feel any better either. He smiled grimly as more soldiers surrounded the Major and fastened his hands in front him before leading him from the shuttle. As the man passed Wedge murmured, “You’d better hope they keep Solo away from you.”

 

Rhovan paused at the quiet threat, his eyes meeting Wedge’s. “We’re on the same side, pilot,” he stated quietly.

 

Wedge’s lips curled with disgust, his anger bubbled over and he threw off the soldier’s hand and grabbed the Imperial’s jacket, ramming him into the bulkhead. “Try telling that to Luke,” he snarled, dimly aware of the soldiers shouting at him to back down, of hands grabbing at his flight suit and harness. He was physically dragged away, his hands forced to release the Imperial as the troopers pulled them apart.

 

“This isn’t over,” Wedge warned, glaring at the other man, enjoying the brief look of uncertainty that had crossed the man’s features.

 

“Yes, it is!” barked a stern voice from the open hatchway.

 

Wedge groaned inwardly as Commander Narra strode aboard the shuttle. “Sir, I….” he began lamely as the soldiers took hold of the Imperial and marched him from the shuttle.

 

“Save it, Antilles,” Narra told Wedge as his eyes settled on the battered figure lying on the stretcher and his face darkened. As he spoke again his attention remained on Luke and the medics working around him, but his words were for Wedge. “Get yourself to de-briefing, Lieutenant. That’s an order!”

 

“Yes, sir,” Wedge responded, somewhat subdued. He took a last concerned glance at Luke as the medics finished preparing to move him to the medical facilities, before turning and trudging down the ramp. As he walked towards the buildings there was a blast of noise as Blue Flight took off for their patrol of the system.

 

ooOOoo

 

 

_“Luke!”_

_He winced, tried to bury his head further into his pillow, as his aunt’s voice cut sharply through the stillness of his sleep. He was warm, too comfortable and had no inclination to move at all._

_“Time to get up!” Beru called again._

_He groaned and reluctantly opened his eyes…_

…light, glaring….

_He winced, quickly closed his eyes against the brief burst of pain the light had caused._

_“Luke!”_

_He sighed in resignation and opened his eyes once more. His room was only dimly lit, the dusky light barely illuminating the area. He stretched under his warm blankets enjoying the luxury of his bed, the quiet of his room after the…_

…after what?

_He frowned as strands of images fleetingly crossed his mind; a cold dark room, a bank of cold lights, a man in a dark uniform, a voice asking questions…._

_What was this? What did it mean? A nightmare only partly remembered, or knowledge of something else?_

_He reached out and switched on the lamp next to his bed. It glowed warmly, reflecting off the white-washed walls, off the pictures and holos of star maps and star ships, off the recruitment brochure for the Imperial Space Academy that lay under the model of a T-65 X-Wing fighter._

When had he got that?

 

_Waking up in his own bed felt good. It felt right. It felt as though he had just come home after being away for too long…._

“Told about home.”

 

_He swallowed the spark of panic that rolled in his stomach at the sudden thought, at the strange – yet familiar voice – he heard speaking._

_“Luke? Can you hear me?”_

_He groaned, resting his head heavily on the pillow. He didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to move. His muscles were aching, his back felt splintered and his wrists were throbbing incessantly. His uncle must have worked him hard the previous day, he…_

_… couldn’t remember what he had been doing. Couldn’t remember much except gashing his wrist with the screwdriver and his aunt dressing it. But why were both wrists sore now?_

_“Come on, Luke….”_

 

He tried to open his eyes, tried to fight through the confusion and the fatigue, tried to lift his heavy, gummy eyelids. His face felt strange; numb and swollen and there was something covering his nose and mouth.

 

“Luke?”

 

He couldn’t focus, could only make out shifting shapes and bright lights. His head was thumping painfully, relentlessly, and he allowed his eyes to close against the disorientation.

 

“Stay with me, Luke.”

 

Panic slammed into him with those words. He had heard them before and, as with now, they had been said gently, with kindness, and he knew the agony that would follow.

 

“No!” He tried to move, tried to move his head, but it was stuck and he could feel a strap tight across his brow. His body was likewise tied down and he could feel cool air brushing over his naked form, hands were touching him, pressing and prodding his injuries. The was a whine of droid servo-motors. “No… please… no….”

 

“It’s okay, Luke,” the voice soothed. “This’ll be over soon.”

 

His eyes snapped open as terror ripped through him and he thrashed against the restraints, tugged and pulled and writhed, ignoring the pain he was causing himself.

 

“Calm down, Luke. You’re safe, now. It’s okay.”

 

“Dammit! Keep him still,” a sterner voice growled. “Give him another 10ccs of Varllezium.”

 

“Luke, you’re home. It’s okay you’re home.”

 

_Home?_

_“…told about home…”_

 

“’Can’t do this….” he told the face floating above him.

 

“Just lay still, Luke. You don’t need to do anything. You‘re safe now.”

 

But the sting of needle in the back of his hand belied that. He bucked against what was happening, jerked and pulled his arm from its restraints and wildly threw it out as he cried, “Back off!”

 

There was a yell, the sound of a crash and a brief silence. Then:

 

“What the hell?”

 

“Pick him up from there,” the gruffer voice commanded.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Shit… what happened?” The voice that had been speaking to him sounded dazed.

 

“I think it was Luke….”

 

“What?”

 

“Infuse his oxygen with Phousian.”

 

There was a brief hiss of escaping gas, and a sweet smell flooded his nostrils and caught on the back of his throat. He gagged, choked and breathed it in. And his senses became slow, muted and blurred, and the voices now echoed hollowly as they following him down into darkness.

 

“I need his blood matched, prep the OR…”

 

_He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He blinked hazily, berating himself for dozing off instead of getting up when his aunt had shouted him. He threw back the covers and clambered out of bed wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his lower back._

ooOOoo

 

 

 

Rhovan thanked the young soldier as she showed him into the small room, but she made no reply and merely closed and locked the door behind her with a grimace of distaste on her face. The Interrogation Specialist turned on his heels and looked around his new accommodation. It was drab and grey, a common feature to prefabricated buildings, and was furnished only by a table and two chairs; he glanced a little nervously at the ceiling beams and chided himself quietly for feeling relief at the lack of a durasteel cable hanging from above.

 

He loosened his collar and sat down by the table, resting his bound hands upon its smooth metallic top. It was then he noticed the tremors and he quickly clasped his palms together.

 

It was over. The Escaal fight was finished; his friend, Taln, dead, the resistance left leaderless. He knew the organisation would eventually rebuild, but it would take years to recover from the damage inflicted upon it during the last few weeks, especially if Darth Vader remained on the planet for any length of time; the Sith Lord’s methods were synonymous with destruction and death.

 

 They had lost so much for one boy.

 

He had lost so much; the double life he had lived for over a decade, the role he had carefully crafted, the trust he earned from the Empire that had enabled him to work and protect resistance networks from within the most insidious heart of the regime; its prisons and interrogation centres.

 

_One boy…_

 

He stood and paced the room. They shouldn’t have made the agreement with the Rebel Alliance, they should have gone after the Escaal Weapon’s Development Programme themselves. They should have refused to help downed pilots. They should have put a gun to the youth’s head the minute they had picked him up. And then none of this would have happened.

 

_One boy._

 

What was so special about Skywalker? Why had Taln become so protective of him and disobeyed a direct order to kill him? Why had he thrown away his career and life to save the youth from the Dark Lord’s clutches? And why had Vader come in person to take possession of the pilot himself?

 

_One boy._

 

What was it about the boy that intrigued the Dark Lord? That Luke had an effect on Vader was undeniable. Vader had never been one to show prisoners mercy and yet he had hesitated to punish Skywalker after the pilot had spat on him, and he had chosen to cut the youth down rather than torment and question him further – such acts were uncharacteristically kind for the Sith Lord.

 

And what of Skywalker himself? He had been on the verge of emotional collapse before Vader had arrived and yet he had appeared to find an added strength to resist where others would have capitulated at the mere mention of Vader’s name. Both had had a unforeseen effect on the other and Rhovan’s curiosity was piqued; something that involved Skywalker’s father.

 

He sighed heavily and threw himself back into the chair. He should be more concerned with his own immediate future and what the Alliance would have in store for him now that his career with the Empire was over.

 

The door opened and admitted two Alliance soldiers who positioned themselves on either side of the doorway. The third figure who entered was a tall, dark-haired man whom he immediately recognised. He stood to greet his visitor with a smile.

 

“Carlist Rieekan!”

 

Surprise did not linger long on Rieekan’s face. “Erwin Rhovan,” he acknowledged his prisoner. “I never thought I’d see the day that Dade would deign to rejoin our ranks.”

 

Rhovan shrugged. “The day had to come, I suppose. That’s what happens when you ask the Alliance for help.”

 

“That had to have hurt, asking us to take out the munitions plant.”

 

“You have no idea how much,” Rhovan conceded. “It’s a decision I regret given the consequences.”

 

There was pause from Rieekan and he considered the other man. Then a smile curled his lips and he turned to his men. “Remove the Major’s binders, and please bring him some food and water.“ He gestured to Rhovan to sit and pulled out a chair for himself. He spent a moment just looking at the other man and considering his approach. He had to find out quickly what had happened on Escaal.

 

 “I’d like to thank you for returning young Skywalker to us.”

 

“Save the sentiments, Rieekan,” Rhovan advised him dryly, as the guards released his wrists and he sat down. “You know me too well.”

 

“So saving Luke was never on your agenda?”

 

Rhovan smiled, briefly chuckled. He was tired, grieved for what he had left behind. “We had an agreement to pick up downed pilots and that’s what my Network did. But we under estimated the Empire’s zeal in hunting him down. It became too dangerous and Skywalker’s life was forfeit.”

 

“So what changed?”

 

The Major shrugged. “He was caught and brought to me for questioning, his identity was discovered and….”

 

“You broke him?” Rieekan quickly asked, knowing Rhovan’s skill at manipulation and applying pressure. If Skywalker had cracked under duress there would be serious repercussions for many in the Alliance, and from the brief glimpse he had of the youth’s condition he was gravely concerned.

 

Rhovan smiled. “I have you worried now? Think maybe your Alliance has been compromised?”

 

“We may be your Alliance again, Erwin,” Rieekan warned him darkly, “it would be prudent to remember that.”

 

There was a pause as the two men assessed the other. Rhovan held his gaze on Rieekan, refusing to give away to the other that he was concerned about his position. “Your pilot didn’t break… but he was very close to it. I already knew who he was, but, yes, he gave his identity during questioning. He also mentioned another pilot ‘Wedge’… but nothing more. So your Alliance is safe.”

 

The relief that flooded Rieekan was all too visible on his features; his jaw relaxed, his brow smoothed and his dark eyes lightened somewhat. “He’s a courageous boy,” he said with some admiration in his voice for his pilot.

 

“Fool hardy and stubborn, I’d say,” Rhovan responded. “So what happens now?”

 

Rieekan glanced around the small room. “We’ll have a cot brought in, make this place a little more comfortable for now and have your bag brought to you….”

 

“Once you’ve been through its contents?”

 

Rieekan nodded with a smile. “Indeed.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“We formally debrief you and Luke, and give you an opportunity to join us should the council be satisfied that your talents will be of use to us.”

 

“For what it’s worth, Carlist, I have no where else to go.” And he hated himself for saying so.

 

Rieekan nodded his understanding and stood to leave. “You’ll be confined to quarters for the time being.”

 

“I understand,” he responded, watching the Rebel general turn to leave. “There’s something else you should know just now.”

 

Rieekan turned back to regard him. “What?”

 

“Vader came personally to take Skywalker.”

 

“Vader was on Escaal?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Rieekan felt uneasiness stirring in his belly. “He spoke to Luke?”

 

“Briefly, though it didn’t make much sense to me.” He frowned, recalling the short exchange between the two. It wasn’t what was said that interested Rhovan; it was the reaction each had had to the other; Vader seemed unusually lenient, whereas Skywalker had appeared to gain more strength to resist. “Something about Skywalker’s father.”

 

Rieekan nodded. “We were aware of Vader’s interest in Luke and had warned him. But we’ll ask him about it.” He paused by the open door. “If you need anything just alert your guards. We’ll speak more later.”

 

The door opened and a soldier entered carrying a tray of steaming food and a jug of water. Rhovan grimaced. He could use something a little stronger than water. But he thanked the Alliance soldier as the food was set on the table before him and when he glanced back up Rieekan had gone. Soon the door was closed and locked and he was alone again. He took a sip of water and, suddenly realising how hungry he was, he lifted the fork by the plate and began to eat.

 

 

ooOOoo

 

 

“That’s the last one, Chewie, close the hatch,” Han Solo spoke softly, his voice barely carrying over the com to Chewbacca who was waiting in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon for Han’s order to fire up the engines. The Corellian watched as the last of the Rebel personnel who had helped restock and refuel his ship moved away from the landing zone. He turned and walked up the ramp punching the hatch controls as he reached the top. He knew he was taking on an insurmountable task by going back to Escaal, knew he was clutching at the slimmest of hopes that they could retrieve Luke from Imperial custody. He knew that Luke was more than likely dead, or transferred to the command ship that had arrived in the system in the same moments that he and Chewbacca had been forced to leave.

 

He knew that he and his partner were facing arrest themselves if they dared to return. But he had to try, had to give the kid a chance.

 

Once in the cockpit he threw himself into his chair and swiftly ran his eyes over the readouts and controls. "We all set?"

 

Chewbacca barked that they were.

 

"Okay…" He keyed the com. "Control this is the Falcon requesting permission to take off."

 

"Negative, Falcon," the tinny voice of the controller responded. "You are to stand down and…"

 

“Stand down?” Han could feel the stir of anger deep in his belly. What delay was the Alliance going to force on him now? Luke didn’t have the time for the tedious bureaucracy the Rebellion liked to pull with irritating regularity. “Why?”

 

“Orders from Command, sir.”

 

"To hell with this,” Han was speaking to himself more than to the controller, “we're taking off anyway."

 

"Negative! Negative!" the voice called frantically. "The Princess Leia is on her way to your location…"

"What does her Royalness want now?" Han grumbled, looking out of the cockpit and watching for the Princess to appear. If she thought she was going to argue him out of this trip she was sorely mistaken.

 

"We have word on Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker…" the controller answered Han's rhetorical question.

 

Chewbacca howled his concern as Leia came racing into the hanger. As she ran toward the Falcon Han pulled himself from his chair and met her at the bottom of the ramp.

 

"What's happened?" he demanded, his face dark, his anxiety twisting in his gut. And he was surprised when Leia laughed and threw her arms around him.

 

"He's safe!  He's on Ra'imar, the Network got him out. He's safe!”

 

“Safe?”

 

She gulped in a breath before she spoke. “They say he’s fine, that he injured his back when he ejected from his fighter. He’s in surgery and…”

 

“Surgery…” Han echoed frowning. His relief and elation at his young friend’s rescue shaded by concern and an uncomfortable disquiet. There was something not quite right about this; he had heard Luke being caught.

 

Leia pulled away, saw the dark look on Solo’s face. “He’s going to be fine, Han. What’s wrong with you?”

 

The Corellian trawled a hand through his dark hair. “Nothing’ it’s great about the kid, but… I’ve got a bad feeling is all. I know what I heard Leia, I know what was happening on Escaal and  I don’t think they’ve told you everything.”

 

“They could hardly have fully briefed me over the com, Han, but he’s safe and that’s what matters.”

 

“It depends on your definition of ‘safe’ highness,” he told her dryly. He came to a sudden decision. “The kid’ll need us so I’m goin’ to Ra’imar, you wanna lift?”

 

ooOOoo

 

The screams died to soft panting and Darth Vader took his time to walk around the suspended prisoner. The man's head was down, his red hair soaking with sweat and blood. He looked much like Skywalker had only a day or so ago; beaten and tortured, stretched to breaking point physically, emotionally and mentally. Except Luke had managed to hold on, unlike this miserable medic.

 

"Please…" the medic groaned. "I don't know…. I don't know…"

 

Major Ayrn smiled at Vader, rolled his eyes as though sharing a private joke with the Dark Lord.

 

Vader wanted to strangle him. The little man sickened him, his glee at Luke's pain had angered him, his pleasure at wring screams from the traitorous medic annoyed him. This wasn't just a job for Ayrn, this wasn't just a way to gain information to pursue the resistance and Rebellion, this was fun.

 

"You knew about Rhovan being the Resistance Commander," Ayrn spoke smoothly to the sobbing man. "You knew about the Gran at the café, you knew about the safe house under the General's home, about several other resistance operatives within the Imperial ranks. Why should I and Lord Vader believe you do not know the location of the Rebel base?"

 

The man shook his head wearily, sweat and blood dripped. "I don't… I don't… How… could…I?"

 

Eyes bright with anticipation, Ayrn nodded at the waited Interrogation droid and the medic screamed once more.

 

Vader turned away, exited the cell and stood for a moment in the hallway. The medic did not know where Rhovan had taken Luke, did not know where the Rebellion was hiding. Ayrn's execution squads had killed hundreds to punish and subjugate the Escaal population on his orders, the cells of the prison were filling quickly as the planet paid for giving refuge to a Rebel…

 

_My son…_

 

But the Rebel himself had eluded them.

 

_Luke…_

 

Who had named the child? Padme before she died after giving birth to him? Obi-Wan, as he stole the boy? The Lars on Tatooine? There was so much he did not know, so many small details of his son's life missing from his knowledge. So much he was eager to learn, so much he wished know, needed to know…

 

_"I.. won't betray... the Alliance... as… you betrayed... my father..."_

 

Stubborn and yet courageous.

 

_Like Padme…_

_Like Anakin…_

 

Foolish boy! Tainted by the lies of the Jedi. Twisted by Obi-Wan, blinded by the folly of false conviction.

 

_Much like yourself, Lord Vader, when you accepted the mantle of the Sith…_

His hands tightened into fists as the voice of Anakin laughed within, causing anger to stir. The Force deepened around him as he threw aside his thoughts not wishing to dwell too long on their meaning. He smiled beneath the mask, soon he would introduce Luke to the true nature of their relationship and he would offer him what Padme had turned down, what Obi-Wan fought against. Luke might fight it, struggle against it, deny it but, ultimately, he was his father's son and his destiny was to stand by his father's side.

 

The cell door opened once more and Ayrn stepped out into the corridor. He was flushed, excited and his eyes brightened even more when he saw the dark Lord. “My Lord! Good news,” he gushed. “He’s broken. He says the Rebels are on…”

 

“He’s lying, Major.”

 

Ayrn hesitated. “I don’t believe so, sir. He states that while tending to Skywalker, the scum…”

 

Vader moved so quickly than Ayrn, saw only a blur as he was grasped by the throat and slammed into the corridor wall.  The Major gasped and choked as Vader’s hand curled tighter around his windpipe. His eyes bulged with fear and confusion.

 

Vader leaned in until his mask was barely a centimetre from Ayrn’s face. “Let me tell you about that scum, Major,” he rumbled quietly. He had to say it. He had to hear it aloud, just once to acknowledge the truth and see the reaction from another and so he whispered softly ensuring that his words would carry to none other than the pathetic man he held. “Skywalker is my son.”

 

And he was satisfied to see, borne from initial confusion, the flare of understanding in Ayrn’s eyes, to see that he was believed and with that belief the man knew he was dead. The Major died quickly, with barely a gurgle, and his body dropped heavily to the corridor wall.

 

Vader turned and walked through the detention block, ignoring the side-glances from the personnel stationed at the reception, the whispers of fear he felt drift from them as he passed, and headed for the turbo lifts. A door slid aside as he approached and General Mahkren stepped out.

 

"My Lord Vader!" The General called seemingly both relieved and concerned at finding him. The General appeared grey and defeated, the death of his son and the escape of the Rebel he thought responsible for his son's death was grieving him deeply.

 

"You have news for me, General?" Vader rumbled as he entered the elevator, making Mahkren double back to join him. The doors closed at the lift started to ascend.

 

"Yes, My Lord," Mahkren responded, pulling himself to his full height and straightening his back. Despite his grief, despite his command being usurped by Vader's arrival, he was still a military man and Vader was his superior and, as such, was worthy of his respect. "Admiral Ozzel has narrowed down the possible routes for the shuttle. We have five possible destinations. However, given that the Rebels attacked in snub fighters and thus hyperspace…"

 

"Spare me the details, General. Just give what I asked for."

 

Mahkren swallowed. "Of course, My Lord. Admiral Ozzel has listed them in order of priority taking into consideration…"

 

"The systems, General," Vader growled in frustration. "I will decide their priority of interest."

 

"Hasthaal, Boz Pity, Saleucami, Ra’imar, and one of the moons of Ja…"

 

Vader motioned him quiet with a wave of his hand as the elevator stopped. The Dark Lord stepped through into the open courtyard and turned his gaze to sky. He stood at peace, watching as the low, grey clouds gathered above as he considered his options. He drew the Force to him, drowned out all noise and activity of the busy prison encampment and focused only on his errant son, trying to find him within the vastness of space covered by the systems that Mahkren had pin pointed, picturing his son on them all and feeling, sensing which one Luke would now be recovering on.

 

_Luke?_

 

Mahkren hesitantly stood by his side, waiting for Vader to speak.

 

 

ooOOoo

 

_He was sitting by the doorway of the dome again. His legs splayed out over the sand, his back against the warm wall as he watched the suns sink on the horizon. This was always his favourite time of the day; the work on the farm was done, his evening meal filled his belly, his aunt's baking for the next day filling the evening air with a hot, sweet scent as it breezed passed his face and ruffled his hair._

_But this time he knew he was dreaming and he waited patiently to hear his aunt climbing the steps to join him._

_"You should be indoors, Luke," Beru chided as she smoothed her skirts and sat beside him. "You have a few long days ahead."_

_He smiled and complained with a grimace.  "Every day is long on Tatooine."_

_"And yet you keep coming back here," she reached over and took his hand. His fingertips were still a little numb, his wrists still scarred and Beru lightly touched the wounds with concern._

_"It's peaceful," he told her softly as he lifted her hand from his, he didn't want to be reminded of the scars or of how they had got there. He was unable to meet her eyes and instead let his gaze wander to the gravesite nearby. "I like this moment, there hasn't been another like it since…"_

_"Since the day that followed," she finished for him. "The day we bought the droids."_

_"I miss you both," he said thickly, feeling the old grief arise anew to clog his throat. "Sometimes I wish I could stay."_

_"No, you don't. You needed this place and this time to return to. But it's time to move on, Luke. It's time to wake up."_

_He shook his head as the night grew darker and colder, as the light breeze that blew turned to a chilled wind.  "I don't want to. Not just yet. I'm not sure if I'm ready."_

_And she placed a warm palm against his cheek and turned his face to her. "You have to wake up, Luke," she reaffirmed with determination. "We will always be here, if times become hard. But refuge is not what you need now." And she looked over his shoulder focusing on something deeper in the night. Luke turned with her gaze and saw the dark, hooded figure standing by the graves, his robes snapping in the growing wind._

_"Luke, wake up…."_

 

"…That's it, Luke… easy now, easy… Let's set him down…"

 

"He's coming around."

 

Luke tried to open his eyes, found he couldn't. He tried to swallow and choked, panicked as he realised there was something down his throat, something that block it. He tried to flail in confusion but his limbs wouldn't move, he tried to suck in a breath around the obstruction and gagged on it as it slid out. He coughed, drew in air and coughed again.

 

"It was a breathing tube, Luke," a muted voice soothed. "You can breathe normally now."

 

"We need to get him out of the harness and dry him off."

 

He could feel people moving around him as he lay flat, could feel hands grasping him, manipulating his arms and legs, could feel a grating pain from his lower back, could hear straps being unbuckled, muffled voices, the whine of droid servo-motors and he felt damp, wet. He frowned, tried to peel his eyelids open, but they felt heavy and sticky and refused to open.

 

"Ca…" he tried to speak, but the words got caught in his dry throat. He shivered as cool air dragged warmth from his damp body, started as something cool slid into his ear and sucked out liquid.

 

"You've been in bacta, Luke," one of the voices again, closer, not so muted. "We're just cleaning you up. You might feel some residual pain from your injuries, but we'll give you something for that." There was a brief sting of pain on the back of his hand, and something soft and warm was wrapped around his wrists. He was turned onto his side and the same warmth enveloped his shoulder.

 

 "Wha.." he tried again without success. He felt tired and lethargic, felt that he should sleep despite his aunt’s insistence that he awaken.

 

"Luke?" the voice questioned. "Do you know where you are?"

 

 _Tatooine._ He thought foggily, as something soft was placed behind his head and as his lower body was covered. But that wasn't right. He wasn't on Tatootine, he was… awake.

 

"Can you open your eyes?"

 

He didn't want to. He didn't want to see what he knew he would find. Didn't want to acknowledge what being fully awake would mean. He felt a cloth gently wipe at his face, at his eyes and he reluctantly forced them open, blinked, saw a face float hazily in front of him. He blinked again, clearing his vision, and focused on a middle-aged woman who was watching him with some concern, for a brief moment he thought he was looking at his aunt.

 

"Do you know where you are, Luke?"

 

Did he know? Was he sure?  "Ra… Ra’imar," he said finally, and with some difficulty, and at last he was offered some water through a straw. He sucked, greedily, at the soothing liquid until the cup was lifted away by a droid. He looked around at the medical bay he was in, taking in the monitors around him, the drip IV in his hand. "I'm on Ra'imar."

 

"Can you remember what happened?"

 

For a moment there was nothing, his mind blank, empty of the last few weeks and then…

 

All of it. The mission and getting shot down. Being rescued by the Network and then being captured and tortured by a man who should have been his ally and…

 

_"You cannot resist further, Skywalker."_

 

Vader.

 

The man who had killed his father and murdered the Jedi Knights. Who had cut down Ben on the Death Star. The man who had captured and tortured Leia.

 

_"Have him taken to my ship, immediately. I shall break him myself."_

 

Vader.

 

The Doctor must have seen something in his eyes for she reached forward and took his hand. "Commander Narra's here to see you, Luke,” she told him gently.  “To debrief you.”

 

"Debrief?" Luke could feel his heart sink, could feel mild consternation build. Debriefing meant questions. More questions. An interrogation. His stomach rolled with anxiousness, and the monitors around him reacted wildly as his stress levels increased. "I… I'm not ready… I…"

 

"I'll give you something to help calm you, Luke, but I'm afraid you have to speak with him, tell him what happened." She was trying to remain composed, but she still sounded upset, angry and she turned away from him, unable to look him in the eye, as Too-One Bee injected a honey-coloured drug into his IV.

 

_Tell…_

_Told…_

_You told…_

 

Luke closed his eyes fighting against the memories, not wanting to relive them just yet, but knowing that, in a moment, he would have no choice. And he felt as alone lying on this Alliance medical bed as he had strung up by the wrists in an Imperial interrogation cell.

 

 

ooOOoo

 

 

Commander Narra stood by the doorway watching through the transparisteel as the medical team carefully eased the unconscious body of Luke Skywalker onto the cushioned bunk. The pilot was still wet from the bacta tank and the medics and droids worked quickly to remove the breathing apparatus, to clean his body of bacta and to stabilise him. Narra winced as Too-One Bee inserted an IV drip into the back of Luke's hand, as the medics wrapped bacta saturated dressings around wounds not yet fully healed.

 

Narra pushed down his simmering anger. Command had ordered that Luke's treatment be interrupted at a stage where he would be able talk, where he could respond to questioning, where the medics could guarantee his alertness. The captured Imperial Interrogator was being questioned more fully at the same time as Luke - neither being given time to ponder events, neither being given an opportunity to change their stories and Ra’imar was on a heightened state of alert ready to evacuate should their answers suggest the base was compromised.

 

But although he could understand the urgency behind the decision, to only allow Luke to partially heal sickened the Commander's sensibilities and he had argued against it. That he had been given the task of the interrogation by Command only heightened his distaste of it. But rather him than someone from the Intelligence Section, rather him than someone Luke didn't know.

 

He stepped back, shifted his feet on the floor as the door opened at the chief Medical Officer stepped out. “I’ll say this again, Commander,” the woman spoke softly, but the anger was clearly audible beneath her words. “I am opposed to this and not just on medical grounds. This does not just endanger Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker’s recovery, but it is also morally and ethically wrong.”

 

“Your concerns are noted, Doctor,” he glanced behind her as the medical droids continued to fuss around their patient. “May I speak with him now?”

 

"It can't be for long Commander, he's been through a traumatic experience and…"

 

"I'll be as long as I need to be," Narra told her bitterly, then he softened his tones, rubbed at his eyes before glancing back into the small treatment room, "and if it makes you feel any better, Doctor, Luke is my second-in-command, my colleague and my friend. I am as concerned for him as you are." He paused, seeming reluctant to speak. "I need the room cleared, no personnel, no droids."

 

The Medic opened her mouth to protest, but instead she sighed heavily in defeat. "Very well, Commander," she conceded. "I'll be in the vicinity, please call me immediately if you need me."

 

"I will," he assured her as the droids left the room. She turned away from him, her face set in stony disquiet. Narra dragged in a deep breath and drew a small data recorder from his pocket. Smothering his own unease at the task he had been set he stepped into the room.

 

Luke was lying flat on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling above him. His hair was still damp from the bacta, his skin slightly soft and puckered from the hours he’d spent floating in the tank. He was pale, thin and looked small on the medical pallet. He was covered with a thin sheet from the waist down and his chest had sensors placed strategically to monitor his vital signs. He did not show any reaction to Narra’s entrance but the squiggles on the monitors moved more rapidly betraying the pilot’s feelings.

 

The commander pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. “Luke,” he greeted, softly.

 

Skywalker turned his head on the pillow to regard him with tired, hooded eyes. The bruises and swelling on his face had responded well to the bacta and his features were marred only by yellowing blotches and thin, healing scars where once there had been open gashes. The medical report command had been given on Luke’s condition had made for difficult reading. There was compression damage to his spine that the medics had surmised had been caused by his ejection from his burning X-Wing, a blaster burn to his upper shoulder, hair line fractures to his skull and cheek bone, a healing ankle fracture, multiple contusions and lacerations over his entire body, his wrists and hands had nerve damage caused by hanging from tight binders, and where his back was injured there was also surface burns probably caused by electroshock torture. Some of the pilot's injuries were weeks old, others much more recent and it was those that caused Narra’s gut to twist tightly in anger and disgust.

 

Especially when the man who caused Luke so much pain was quite probably going to be handed a commission and rank within the Alliance.

 

“Com….” Luke whispered roughly, his voice breaking in a dry throat. He closed his eyes, cleared his throat. “Commander…”

 

“Have they explained to you why I’m here?”

 

A frown crossed Luke’s features and he opened his eyes again, fixing Narra with a quiet angry gaze. “Questions.” He stated bluntly. He’d had enough of questions…

 

“It’s necessary, Lieutenant-Commander,” Narra firmly chided, he may have sympathy for Luke, regarded the young man as a friend, but that would not influence his orders or his duty.

 

“It doesn’t make it easier,” Luke countered bitterly, as Narra withdrew a pocket-sized holo-recorder and set it up. He visibly blanched as Narra activated it, and he closed his eyes fighting down his panic about the coming session. He was being ridiculous, this was the Alliance, not the Empire. These people were his allies and his friends, not his enemies. This was Narra sitting with him, not Dade. But still the dread remained, still his stomach churned with anxiety despite the drugs the Doctors had given him to calm him.

 

He was still fighting to come to terms with being back with the Alliance, still a little hazy on the details of his escape, still trying to comprehend the trauma and degradation he’d suffered over the last few weeks, still trying to work out how he felt about it all. Something had changed for him, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

 

_“Your pathetic attempts at drawing upon the Force have only prolonged your suffering.”_

 

Vader’s words again. His thoughts kept coming back to the words the Dark Lord had said.

 

 _"It was not_ I _who betrayed your father."_

 

He had meant Ben, Luke was sure of it. What had he meant? What had happened between Ben, Vader and his father?

 

_"We will speak at length, young one."_

 

Luke shuddered at the memory, of the threat made towards him.

 

But was it a threat? There had been something in Vader's voice. Something that Luke struggled to comprehend and name.

 

“Luke?”

 

Narra’s sharp inquiry brought his attention back to the medical centre and away from that dark cell on Escaal. He wiped at his face with unsteady hands, breathed in a calming breath and swallowed his rising consternation and looked to Narra who was watching him with concern.  "I'm ready, sir."

 

Narra nodded, speaking gently. "We'll take it easy, Luke. If you need a break just let me know and we'll stop, let the medics assess you."

 

"No, I'll be fine," Luke told him, sounding more determined. "Just get it over with."

 

Narra started recording. “For the record, please state your name, rank and service number…”

 

 

 

ooOOoo

 

“Rhovan Erwin, Imperial Interrogation Specialist Major, one-one-one-nine-six-three-eight-Delta-two.” Rhovan quoted, dully but with a sparkle in his eyes. He smiled at Rieekan across the table. “That’s my Imperial persona. I‘m also known as,” he paused for effect. “Dade, Escaal Resistance. Before that I was Daav, Cusrean Resistance and before that I was Derven Hasthaal Resistance. But you already know all this, General. Why don’t we cut to the chase, you want to know what happened with Skywalker.”

 

“We’ll get to that point, Major,” Rieekan advised him, firmly. “We have a few things to discuss before we speak about Luke.”

 

“So I should get comfortable then,” Rhovan stated, still smiling.

 

“It’s difficult to believe that one of your reputation and stature within the Empire could also be so deeply involved with active resistance. Perhaps you could explain it for us?” Rieekan met Rhovan’s gaze, held it until the man laughed and looked away.

 

“Okay, Carlist, perhaps _you_ should get comfortable, we’ll be here a while yet….”

 

 

ooOOoo

 

“What happened when I ordered the jump?” Narra queried.

 

Luke closed his eyes, recalling, watching the pictures from the past few weeks flow. “I took a hit from behind, lost a foil.”

 

“Why didn’t you eject?”

 

He opened his eyes, smiling without humour. “I thought I stood a better chance on the planet’s surface.” He shrugged, winced. “I was wrong.”

 

“Talk me through it, Luke.”

 

ooOOoo

 

Rhovan sighed, stood up and paced back and forth, agitated and tired.  “Ayrn was getting closer. He’s the worst kind of Imperial, he’s what’s wrong with the Empire.”

 

“So what did you do?”

 

“Bided my time, tried to give Taln time, but Ayrn was persistent and I couldn’t think of any excuses not to allow him into the Doctors interrogation.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“The Doc gave their location.”

 

ooOOoo

 

Luke took a shuddering breath, another sip of the water that Narra had offered him, this time he didn't spill any or choke on it. His hands felt numb, fingertips felt clumsy, and his wrists were throbbing beneath the dressings. His head was light and dizzy. He wanted this to stop, to end.

 

"Luke?" Narra questioned. "Are you ready to continue?"

 

"Yes," he lied, just wanting this over, just wanting to curl up on the bunk, pull the sheet over his head and wish the world away.

 

"And this was when you met Major Erwin Rhovan?"

 

 _Erwin,_ thought Luke with smile. _Sounds like an old man's name._ He fought a burst of hysterical laugher. It wasn't that funny, but Dade sure didn't look like an Erwin.

 

"Luke?" Narra repeated with a frown, not understanding Luke’s smile. "That's when you met Rhovan?"

 

"Yes. They… they took me into this room, with a chair… and he was sitting in it,” he stared at the ceiling, trying not to think.

 

"I know this is difficult, Luke, but I have to ask. What happened next?"

 

ooOOoo

 

"I ordered Luke to be taken down, allowed to rest. That's when Vader walked in."  Rhovan balanced his chair on two legs, placed his feet upon the table and crossed his ankles.

 

Rieekan fought the urge to push him off balance. "Tell me what happened next."

 

"That's when it got interesting," Rhovan replied with a tight smile, remembering.

 

"In what way?" The General asked, his stomach twisting with mild anxiety, perhaps not for himself and the Alliance, but for a young man who had gained his trust, admiration and respect. He wouldn't like Luke to come out of this experience looking other than totally clear of possible repercussions. "What was said between Vader and Luke?"

 

"That's just it," Rhovan frowned. "It wasn't what was said, it was…"

 

The door to the interrogation room slid open and three men entered. They were dressed as Alliance personnel, but the markings on their uniforms identified them as Intelligence.

 

"What is this?" Rieekan demanded rising to meet them and addressing the ranking officer, a Colonel.

 

"I'm sorry, General Rieekan," the man answered. "I am Colonel Sparr, Alliance Intelligence, and this interview is terminated. All recordings and written notes are hereby confiscated and you, General, are under instructions not to disclose or discuss what took place here. Further more…"

 

"What?  What?" Rieekan blustered through his fury. "On whose orders?"

 

The Colonel handed him a piece of flimsy. "Please shred this after reading, sir." Then he picked up from where Rieekian had interrupted. "Further more, Major Rhovan is now in our custody, pending his release and redeployment within the Alliance."

 

Rieekan scanned his orders, noted the signature, and looked in shock to Rhovan. The Major stood, smiled and shrugged at him.

 

"Sorry, Carlist, I was looking forward to our chat."

 

 

ooOOoo

 

"You gave Wedge's name?" Narra tried to keep his tone neutral, tried not to show his dismay at Luke divulging the name of his friend to the enemy.

 

"I…I… think I did…I… said his name. I said 'Wedge,' nothing else." He finished quickly, he felt ashamed, horrified at having to confess his weakness. "Vader was… awfully near…" His heart was hammering, the lines on the monitors squiggling faster and sharper. "… he… said something about my father. I…I think I spat on him, he…he hit me." His hand gently touched the side of his face where Vader's back-hand had landed. "It's hard…" he drew in an unsteady breath, fighting back tears, horrified at showing such weakness. "It's… "

 

"Easy, Luke. It's okay, there's no harm done here." Narra knew he shouldn’t be saying this, knew it was not up to him to gauge where harm was done. That was Command's jurisdiction.

 

"I was drugged,” Luke offered as way of explanation. “… Vader… he…" The memory was hazy, seen through swollen eyes and pain. Vader going behind him, igniting his lightsaber, cutting him down, ordering Luke to be taken to his ship where…

 

_Luke?_

 

He started, looked around with fright, sure he had heard the Dark Lord's voice. The room seemed to darken around him, shadows moved on the edge of his vision, he could hear the whine of droid servo motors, feel the tight binders around his wrists and Vader… He could feel Vader with him and…

 

"Luke?" Narra was looking at him strangely. "Are you all right?"

 

Was he? The darkness was still around him, Vader's nearness stifling, he could almost hear the Dark Lord's measured breathing. He was close, so close. "We have to get out of here…" he whispered.

 

"What do you mean, Luke?"

 

What did he mean? What had happened? The darkness was lifting and all he saw now was the make-shift Alliance medical facilities. But he had that feeling, that strong urge that something was going to happen, and this time he knew Vader was behind it.

 

He threw the sheet aside, swung his legs out of bed as the commander stood and moved to his side. His knees buckled and Narra caught him, helped him up, shouted for a medic.

 

 Luke clutched his commander's arm, his grip weakened by his torture. "No, sir! We have to evacuate, now!"

 

ooOOoo

 

Mahkren shifted from foot to foot, placed his hands in the small of his back and massaged his spine as he waited for Vader to move, to speak. The Dark Lord had been still for so long and…

 

"Ra’imar," Vader announced, sounding triumphant. "Have my shuttle brought to me, tell Ozzel to prepare my ship and set a heading for the Ra'imar system."

 

Mahkren smiled as he bowed, relieved that the Dark Lord was leaving Escaal. "As you wish, my Lord."

 

ooOOoo

 

Luke stared at the corrugated ceiling of the medical centre tracing the ridges and grooves with his eyes, noticing a thin crack in the old durasteel the Rebellion had bastardised to function as a roof. He was glad it wasn’t raining he didn’t think the thrumming of his headache would be able to stand the noise. He sighed in frustration and closed his eyes. They had offered him a sedative, offered him another few hours in the bacta tank, but he had refused both as he had tried to get them to listen to him. He didn’t need sleep, he didn’t need to be incapacitated in bacta – he needed to get out of here, needed to get command to believe that Ra’imar was in danger.

 

He had tried to explain to Narra and to the doctor, had pleaded with them to believe him, that his feeling of danger was strong, that he knew Vader would be coming, and soon. But his commander and the medic had merely picked him up from the floor and deposited him back on the bed. They had tried to placate him, tried to calm him and ease his panic. But they hadn’t believed him, had put his behaviour down to post traumatic stress, and when the doctor thinly threatened to sedate him against his wishes Luke had quietened immediately.

 

But the feeling of danger did not quieten and in the few hours since he had first felt it, it had grown in intensity.

 

_He was coming…_

 

It was stronger than the danger he had felt on Escaal before the troopers had stormed his hiding place. Then it was a vague stirring in his belly and raised hairs on the back of his neck. This was stronger; a nausea twisting his gut, consternation growing so thick and solid that his blood ran cold with fear.

 

He couldn’t just lie here and let him come, he couldn’t lie here and allow the base be over run. He couldn’t lie here and allow himself to be taken again.

 

_“We will speak at length, Young One.”_

 

Luke had no desire to discuss anything with the Dark Lord. He threw back the thin sheet that covered him and, grimacing with the pain and stiffness in his back, he sat up and reached for the white hospital gown that lay near the bed. He planted his feet on the cold floor and tested his balance, his strength. When convinced that he wasn’t just going to keel over he gingerly drew on the gown.

 

“Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker,” Too-One-Bee’s soft tones interjected. “You should not be doing that. Your injuries have not yet healed sufficiently to….”

 

“I’m fine,” he lied, trying to reassure the droid as he drew the IV from his arm with a hiss of pain.

 

“You should not do that, sir,” the droid admonished again. “I shall have to alert….”

 

Luke carefully drew on the robe and fastened the belt around his waist. “You do what you have too, One-Bee and I’ll do the same.” Turning away from the droid he cautiously took a few unstable steps. His legs felt weak and rubbery beneath him, but at least they took his weight and hadn’t just folded beneath him. With his hand bracing his back he limped to the door.

 

“Sir,” One-Bee tried again as the portal opened.

 

“I’ll be back,” Luke assured him without turning around; it would have hurt too much. “I need to do this.”  The door closed behind him and he paused and leaned against it as he tried to catch his breath. He was dismayed at how much energy he had expended just to cross from his bed to the corridor and he wondered where he would find the inner resources to get to Red Flight’s bunk room without falling flat on his face.

 

A droid twitter of surprise caught his attention, he looked down and a wide grin of genuine pleasure lit up his face. “Artoo!” Whistling out a question, the droid trundled over to him. Luke laid his palm on Artoo’s dome. “I’m fine, Artoo, really,” he said wondering how the little droid had made it back to the base. He remembered seeing the droid capsule of his X-Wing floating down several kilometres away after he had ejected above Escaal and he vaguely remember seeing droid treads when Dade, Rhovan or whatever he now called himself, dragged him from the detention centre. Had that been Artoo? And did it really matter? His friend was here and was safe and doing as he had always done – looking out for his master.

 

“I could use your help, little buddy,” he told Artoo, leaning a little heavier on the droid’s cool body shell for support. “I need to get to the bunk room, think you can help me?”

 

The little droid tooted his assent and, together again, they slowly made their way through the base to Red Squad’s quarters.

 

 

 

ooOOoo

 

 

Darth Vader strode down the ramp of the shuttle and, ignoring the troops who had been hastily put together to welcome him back on board the Executor, he walked directly toward Ozzel.

 

“My Lord,” Ozzel bowed his head briefly in respect to his superior, then he had to turn around quickly as Vader passed him without breaking his stride. “All stations report ready, we await your orders,” he reported as he fell into Vader’s pace.

 

Vader nodded, acknowledging the man’s report. Soon. Soon his son would be within his grasp and this time he would not loosen it and allow the boy to escape. Anticipation thrilled through him, he had not been this eager to see someone since…

 

_Ani, Something wonderful has happened.._

 

He shook himself, tossed away the memories of that other life and focused on the now. He gathered the Force to him, drew in its dark tendrils and welcomed the coolness that settled within. Soon…

 

“My Lord?” Ozzel prompted carefully.

 

“Set a course for the Ra’imar sector,” Vader told him. “Commence an aerial bombardment once we are in orbit but target hangers and ships only, leave the buildings intact. Have the troopers ready for a surface attack. I want prisoners.” He turned and looked at Ozzel. “Have all personnel familiar with Luke Skywalker’s likeness. He should be located in the Rebel’s medical facilities and he will be taken alive.” He emphasised the will, making sure that the unspoken threat was understood.

 

“It will be done, My Lord,” Ozzel reassured him, bowing again.

 

ooOOoo

 

Someone had left a packing crate outside the bunkroom and Luke gingerly eased himself down to sit for a moment to catch his breath again and to allow the aches of his body to fade to a more bearable level.

 

Artoo twittered out his concern as Luke placed a hand to the small of his back and winced.

 

“I’m fine, Artoo,” he gently panted, lying. His body was tingling, his legs trembled, his back flared with pain and still the feeling of urgency was pressing on him making him push his body beyond its current capabilities, causing adrenaline to spike and for nausea to roll in his empty gut and he vaguely wondered when he last had something solid to eat – in the tunnels, the ration bar while he waited for Taln to return, before his capture.

_“Take the shirt off.”_

 

He blanched with the sudden memory of standing sodden and shivering before Dade and he quickly pushed the images away. He didn’t want to think of this, didn’t want to deal with this just now and he certainly didn’t want to go through the same again. He drew himself to his feet; Vader was coming and he didn’t intend that anyone should be here when the Imperials arrived. He palmed open the door of the squad room and peered into the gloom. He could hear the deep breathing of sleep, the occasional mutter and very light snoring as his squad mates rested.

 

“Wedge!” He hissed in the general direction of Antilles’ bunk. “Wedge!” He pressed the switch for the lights and the fluorescents brightly flared bringing loud curses and protests from those it wakened.

 

“What the f…?”

 

“We’re sleeping here!”

 

“It can’t be that time already!”

 

Pillows and blanket’s were drawn over heads.

 

“Put out the damned light!”

 

Luke ignored them all. “Wedge!”

 

“Skywalker?”

 

“Hey, look who’s up and about!”

 

“Luke?” A dark, tousled head appeared from a bundle of bedclothes and Wedge Antilles groggily looked at Luke. “Sheesh, Skywalker you look like shit. What the hell are you doing out of the med-centre?”

 

Any other time Luke would have had a quick come back, but now wasn’t the time. “We need to move, Wedge. We need to suit up.”

 

Wedge was immediately fully awake and sliding from his bunk, the others in the squad doing likewise. “Problem?” He asked Luke as he pulled on his pants.

 

“Narra didn’t believe me, put it down to trauma,” Luke told him as he limped to his own bunk and locker; although a Lieutenant-Commander Luke shared the room with the others with only Narra having the luxury of a private room.

 

“How soon?” Wedge asked now moving to assist Luke who was struggling to dress himself.

 

“Not sure…” Luke trailed off, paused to consider what the Force was trying to tell him and, not for the first time, he wished Ben had been able to teach him a lot more. “Soon. We need to get command to listen, we need them to evacuate.” Wincing and grimacing, Luke eased into his spare flightsuit and harness – the originals left behind on Escaal – and lifted his second helmet. This was the one he wore when he destroyed the Death Star and he had kept it when issued with a new one. He hoped it would bring him the same luck this time around.

 

Wedge watched his friend grimace, heard the light hiss of pain as Luke fastened his harness. “You fit?” he asked although he already knew the answer and knew, too, that Luke would lie.

 

“I’m fit,” Luke assured him. He turned to Artoo and handed the droid his helmet to hold for him. “Go with the flight, see if there is a wing for me. I’ll meet you at the hanger.” He took a step and his knees folded beneath him. Wedge caught him, brought him upright and supported him.

 

“Fit, huh?” Antilles smiled.

 

“Just get me to command,” Luke told him, tightly as fresh sweat beaded him forehead from his exertion and pain. “We’re running out of time.”

 

Wedge ignored the impatience in Luke’s voice knowing it was pain and discomfort talking. “Whatever you say, Boss.” He lifted his own helmet and threw it to his wingman then, taking Luke’s arm and supporting some of his friend’s weight, they headed for the command centre while their squad and Artoo filed out to the hangers.

 

ooOOoo

 

Leia Organa woke from a light sleep and sat up with a low groan. She had been seated by the hologame board in the Falcon’s passenger area going over some recent figures of the Alliance resources and, despite her anxiousness about the lack of supplies and heavy losses the Rebellion had been suffering, she must have dozed off and lain down. She was mildly amused to find a blanket had been placed over her as she had slept and she wondered if it had been Captain Solo or Chewbacca who had been so considerate.

 

She placed the blanket to the side, stood and smoothed down her shirt and pants trying in vain to flatten out the wrinkles in the cloth. She sighed and made her way forward to the Falcon’s cockpit as she tucked a few strands of loose hair back behind her ears. She found Solo and Chewbacca seated in their usual places.

 

“Mornin’!” Han smiled at her as she entered and sat behind them and Leia knew that it had been the Corellian who had covered her. She was a little disturbed that he had seen her at her most vulnerable and yet touched that he had been so thoughtful.

 

“How long?” she enquired as she slipped into the seat behind them. She stared out at the curling, twisting lights of hyperspace beyond the ship.

 

Han threw a quick glance at her over his shoulder. “’Bout another hour,” he told her. She looked tired, worn and seeing her sleeping earlier had touched something in him. That he cared about her was undeniable to himself, if not to others, but getting close to her was practically impossible. Only Luke had seemed able to penetrate her hardened shell and Han suddenly found himself jealous of his young friend’s ability and his position of confidant and friend to the Princess Organa.

 

He shook himself, feeling ridiculous and a little guilty given what had surely happened to Luke in the last few weeks. The kid would need his friends, not competition for the Princess’s affections. “Just enough time to put your make-up on to greet your loyal subjects, your highnessness.” He didn’t know why he said it, maybe to put some distance between them, to fight his growing feelings for her, but his tone was rougher than he had intended.

 

Leia knew she shouldn’t be surprised at his sarcasm, but she was. Surprised and a little confused and hurt. First he shows concern by covering her as she sleeps, then he berates her position once more. He really was a confusing and irritating man. She swallowed her anger, not wishing to bicker or fight with him this time, but her words were clipped nonetheless. “Perhaps I’ll do just that, Captain, thank you.” She rose and left the cockpit.

 

There was silence in the cockpit for short while and then Chewbacca grunted quietly.

 

Han shot his friend an irritated look. “I ain’t apologising, so just drop it Chewie.”  And he turned to stare out at the turmoil of hyperspace while ignoring the turmoil of his own emotions.

 

ooOOoo

 

The Command Centre was quiet, the night-shift personnel busy monitoring the sensors around the base and the squad of X-Wings who were currently patrolling the solar system. There was a steady buzz of whispered communication mixing with the hum of electronics. Wedge and Luke paused at the door and looked around, searching for the officer in charge that evening. Wedge was concerned about his friend, he could feel the light tremors of fatigue that ran through Luke’s body, could feel him stiffen every time his back would spasm with pain. He could hear the laboured breathing even although Luke tried his damnedest to stifle it. But the pilot also knew that he could do nothing to persuade Luke to take it easier and that Skywalker would push on with, or without, him.  

 

“Shit,” Luke whispered under his breath, his stomach falling with added anxiety when he saw who was on duty that evening. The officer was bending over a communications relay station watching the operator work. “It’s Redhr.”

 

Wedge groaned. Colonel Redhr was a stickler for protocol and procedures and was notorious for chewing out those personnel who failed to meet his exacting standards. However, they had to try. Wedge pulled Luke a little straighter and supported him as they approached the officer.

 

“Colonel!” Luke called. He put as much strength into his voice as he could muster. He was in agony, his back injury grating with each movement and could feel his legs weaken with every step. The painkillers he’d been given in the med-centre was wearing off and his headache pounded harder. But the feeling of danger was growing by the minute and Luke knew they were running out of time. “May we speak with you?”

 

The Colonel glanced over and immediately frowned when he saw Luke. He straightened and approached them. “Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker should you not be in the medical centre?” His tone of voice left no room for debate.

 

“Sir…” Luke began. He faltered, hesitated wondering how in hell he was going to persuade the Colonel to sound the general alarm and evacuate the base without a shred of proof that they were in danger. Then he blurted it out. “Sir, we have to evacuate the base.”

 

There was a moment of stillness, when everything seemed to stop and all eyes in the command centre turned to focus on him. Anger slowly worked its way over the Colonel’s already severe face and Luke felt like a wamp-rat caught in the crosshairs of a blaster cannon, but he stood his ground.

 

“And,”  Redhr whispered tightly, “what evidence do you have to support such drastic and costly action, Lieutenant-Commander?”

 

It was Wedge who came to Luke’s aid. “Gut instinct, sir. Luke knows when something’s not right. He’s saved our asses countless times.” And, as he said it, Wedge realised how feeble it actually sounded. He felt Luke wilt beside him.

 

“Ah-huh…” the Colonel fixed his eyes on Luke, “and this would be due to your alleged Jedi heritage?”

 

Luke bridled at the word “alleged” and he had to bite back his own anger, it would do him no good to lose his temper here. “The Force, sir,” he stated as confidently as possible. “I know we’re in danger. Please alert General Rieekan.”

 

“I’ll do know such thing!”

 

“Sir, please… You have to…”

 

The Colonel turned to the communications officer, sharply talking over the top of Luke’s protests.  “Request an escort to have the Lieutenant-Commander taken back to the medical centre where he will remain until deemed fit for duty.”

 

“…listen to me! The base is in danger and…”

 

Redhr’s anger could be seen visibly rising in his cheeks. “I need more than ‘gut instinct,’ Skywalker! I need a valid reason for waking the General with this preposterous notion!”

 

Wedge felt helpless, felt he could do little but stand by and watch this man belittle his friend and that stirred his own anger. “Sir, Luke’s record stands for itself! He’s never wrong about these things. If you could only waken the General he would…”

 

The Colonel drew him a vicious look but did not deign to answer him. He kept his focus solely on Luke as the door to the command centre opened to admit two armed soldiers; a tall, brutish man and a small, slender woman. “Ah, Sergeant,” he addressed the woman. “Please escort Commander Skywalker and his…” he paused, glancing at Wedge. “…moral support back to whence they came.”

 

“Of course, Sir,” the sergeant replied. She turned to look at Luke and Wedge. “Sirs, if you’ll come with me.” Her tone left no room for debate.

 

Luke’s head was buzzing, his anxiety becoming full-blown panic. He could feel his blood rushing through his head, pounding incessantly. Cold sweat formed on his brow, trickled down the side of his face. It was hard to think through the urgency of the Force and the pain of his own body. There had to be something he could say, something more he could offer to convince the Colonel that his feelings were true and they really were in danger. That the Empire was coming and that people would die. He closed his eyes to the room, to the people in it as he searched for an idea, something to say. Something that would convince them that their home here was…

 

Home…

_“You told us, Luke”_

_“You gave us home.”_

 

Dade, or Rhovan, or whoever he was, had tried to trick him. Had tried to make him believe that he had given them the base during his interrogation, that somehow through all the torture he had disclosed without realising it. He felt Wedge’s supporting arm around his waist beginning to turn him, as the pilot gave up their attempt to save the base, and he opened his eyes to see the soldiers move in to take up their escort, he saw Redhr begin to move away from them as he returned to his duties. And he knew what he had to do, no matter the consequences.

 

“I told,” he said quietly.

 

He felt Wedge stiffen beside him as redhr stopped and turned back to regard him with narrowed eyes.

 

 “What?”

 

Luke swallowed, the hurry of his feelings pushing him on, his heart hammering in his chest as he forced out the words. “ I told… I.. I told them where we were.”

 

It was as though a chill had settled over the room. The escort soldiers stepped away from him as Redhr stepped closer to stand over him and even Wedge’s grip loosened a little. In the middle of a busy room Luke suddenly felt very alone.

 

“Explain yourself, Lieutenant-Commander,” Redhr barked.

 

Luke hung his head as nausea rolled in his belly and he fought the urge to retch.  “When they…. When I…. “ he couldn’t say it, couldn’t explain it, couldn’t uttered the words that would sum up his captivity. He could only lie to save them all. “I …I gave them our location. They… the Empire… They know where we are.”

 

 

ooOOoo

 

 

“Forty-Five minutes to reversion, My Lord.”

 

“Thank you, Admiral,” Vader didn’t turn at Ozzel’s voice, he kept his back to his officer as he stared out of the view port at the chaotic, intricate, twisting of hyperspace. It was, he mused, much like the feelings he was picking up from his son. The closer the ship came to Ra’imar the more agitated and panicked Luke was becoming. Vader closed his eyes and reached out once more to brush his son’s consciousness and he smiled. Luke was angry, a quiet fury was simmering just below his fear and consternation.

 

_Use these feelings, Young One. They make you strong…_

 

Vader smiled as he was pushed away, as Luke struggled to close his mind and his feelings to the Dark Lord’s touch. Soon Luke would come to know his father, soon he would come to understand the benefits the Dark Side offered, soon he would…

 

_“… help me raise our child…”_

 

He closed his eyes against the echo of her voice, against the pain of the memories it brought with it. Her declaration of love, her betrayal, her distrust and horror of the path he had chosen to walk – for her, for their child and for their future - and she had turned against him, had chosen Obi-Wan.  Would her son do likewise once he knew the truth, would Luke remain faithful to the Jedi that had betrayed his father? It was an option he had no wish to consider for the consequences for Luke, should he make such a decision, were too dire to contemplate. He would have to ensure that Luke’s choices were as limited as his own had been.

 

 _“You were my brother, Anakin, I loved you!”_  

 

Another declaration of love, another abandonment and betrayal.  The coals of an old rage burned a little brighter and he smiled beneath the mask, his eyes aflame where none could see. Luke was still young, still immature in the ways of the Force and, he would raise his child, his son, just not in the way she had intended.

 

“All stations report ready, My Lord,” Ozzel reported behind him. “Forty minutes to reversion.”

 

_Soon._

 

ooOOoo

 

The pounding of his headache eased a little as the weight that was pressing on him suddenly withdrew and he was left with a nagging throb behind his temples. Luke opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the floor propped up against a wall with Wedge hunkered down beside him with a frown of concern on his face. Behind him he could see the two soldiers Redhr had ordered as escort eyeing him with a mixture of anxiousness and scorn.

 

“You okay now?” Wedge asked, his tone of voice clearly telling Luke that he didn’t think he was all right.

 

Luke groaned as he tried to push himself up straighter and was rewarded with a sharp pain lancing through his back. “Did I pass out?” He could remember Redhr’s eyes widening with realisation, with contempt, as the meaning of his lie sank in. The Colonel had turned from him and ordered that General Rieekan be wakened and then the darkness had struck him, had pushed down upon him and he thought he’d heard a voice, _his_ voice.

 

_“Use these feelings…”_

 

“Yeah, you dropped like a stone,” Wedge told him. “Good job you’ve lost weight or you’d have pulled me down, too.”

 

Luke smiled at his friend’s weak attempt at humour and tried to see over Antilles’ shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

 

“Nothing yet, Rieekan’s just here, and talking to Redhr.”

 

“They believe me?” Luke asked, hissing with pain as he tried to get up.

 

Wedge hooked an arm under Luke’s and helped him to stand. “I don’t, but I’m hoping they might.”

 

Luke glanced gratefully at Wedge, relieved that his friend had seen through his lies…

 

_“… You told us about Wedge and your squad."_

 

… and he paled at the memory, at the echo of Dade’s voice and he glanced away from Antilles, hoping that Wedge would never learn the details of what had happened on Escaal.  “Thanks.”

 

“Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker!”

 

Both Luke and Wedge stiffened and straightened at Rieekan’s voice. Luke swallowed back his feelings of consternation as the base commander approached them. The General looked tired, haggard and drawn and Luke didn’t envy the man his position or the decisions he had to make.

 

Rieekan frowned at the young man before him. Skywalker could barely stand on his own, was shaking with exertion and pain and yet here he was suited up for flight duty after confessing to breaking during interrogation and giving the Empire their position which was contrary to the information Rhovan had given and that Luke himself had given to Narra. However, the pilot’s de-brief had been suspended when Luke had become unduly upset and made his first demand that the base be evacuated. Perhaps there had been more to tell. “Colonel Redhr reports that you have requested that the base be immediately evacuated.”

 

“Yes, sir, the Empire know where we are.”

 

“Because you told them during your interrogation?”

 

Luke winced at the tone of the General’s words. He fought the urge to hang his hang, fought the urge to turn away as he lied. “Yes, sir.

 

“Why didn’t you tell Commander Narra this during the debrief?”

 

Luke was stunned, momentarily silent, he had known that Narra would have fed back the debrief, but somehow the idea that command already knew what he’d said hadn’t registered when he had made his false confession. Then he stammered, “I… did… I told him we had to evacuate.”

 

“Due to a _feeling_ you had. Which was also the first thing you said to Colonel Redhr,” Rieekan reminded him, sternly. The General watched the young pilot wilt somewhat, saw despair spread over the youth’s face.

 

“General, please…” Luke pleaded, feeling that he was losing the battle and that the base would also be lost. “…give the order… We don’t have much time.”

 

Rieekan hesitated. He needed more than one of Skywalker’s feelings to go on to take the drastic action of evacuating an entire base of operations. The fact the young man before him claimed to be the son of a Jedi – Anakin Skywalker, the “hero with no fear”, no less – carried a lightsaber and did appear to possess some Force talents gave him some credence. However he needed corroboration. “And if I were to bring Major Rhovan here would he substantiate your admission?”

 

Luke blanched at the thought of being in the same room as Rhovan – or Dade, or whatever the hell his real name was - the man who had tortured him and who was, and always had been, part of the resistance against the Empire they both fought.  Dade would be able to refute his claims of confession. He swallowed, thickly, his feelings wild and urgent, the darkness pressing in relentlessly.  “Sir…I…”

 

“Sir!” An urgent voice called and Rieekan turned to find Redhr hastily approaching him. “Green flight have reported several ships dropping from hyperspace just outside the system.”

 

And, apart from his own heartbeat, everything seemed to go silent around Luke. He could see Rieekan and Redhr before him, could feel Antillies supportive arm around him, but still he felt alone, wrapped in his own cocoon of desolation. It had been for nothing, his torture at the hands of Dade when he had refused to give the base up to the Empire, his lie that he had given the base. He had been too late, Vader was here…

 

_“We will talk at length, young one.”_

 

… and the base and many of its personnel would be lost.

 

Rieekan glanced back at Luke. The boy was pale, afraid and his gaze seemed to be elsewhere. “Put it on the com…” Then he spoke to the patrol. “What do you see, Green Leader?”

 

“Stardestroyer! A command ship and she’s spewing out TIES, bombers, troop shuttles … heading your way! Green Flight form up… General, we’ll take out as many as we can – give you some time….”

 

“Sound the alarm, initiate the emergency evacuation procedures!” Rieekan ordered, tightly. “All flights report to their ships.” He turned to the two pilots. “Antilles, get to your ship…”

 

“Yes, sir!” Wedge turned and Luke seemed to rally himself, but Rieekan wasn’t finished.

 

“…Skywalker, I’m placing you in protective custody.” He gestured to the two waiting soldiers and ordered, “See to it that he gets to the med-evac ship and stay with him.”

 

The General’s words snapped Luke from his stupor. No! This wasn’t what he wanted. “Sir!” he objected. “I can fly!”

 

Rieekan sighed heavily with annoyance at the preposterousness of the claim; the boy was shaking with exertion as it was. “You have your orders, Skywalker. You are to evacuate with the medical team.” And that was the end of the discussion. Rieekan moved on shouting out other orders for the ground troops to take up defensive positions, for air batteries to be manned, for the fighters to accompany the freighters as they made their run for escape.

 

“Sir, please!”

 

A hand was placed on his arm and a soft, but firm, female voice told him. “Come with us please, sir.”

 

Luke threw off her hand, ignored her, turned to Wedge. “Tell Artoo to stand-by, I’ll be there.”

 

Wedge nodded and turned and jogged from the room as the activity around them escalated and the call for evacuation was broadcast to the base.

 

His arm was taken once more. “With all due respect, sir, but no, you won’t be there,” the woman told him, her grip tightening on his arm. “Haslam,” she addressed her companion, “let’s move it quickly.”

 

“Yeah,” the private drawled and he drew his eyes off Luke, “Though I’d prefer to be with the squad, better a fire-fight than babysitting traitors.” He clamped his hand on Luke’s other arm.

 

Luke winced at the jibe, at the tight hold - it looked like someone had believed him - as the two soldiers walked him on. “You don’t have to do this,” he protested, trying to pull his arms away from his guards, trying to ignore the pains that came with his efforts. It was too much like Escaal, caught between two guards and being dragged away against his will. “Just leave me, go to your squad, and I’ll go to mine!”

 

“’You hear something squealing, Sarg?” The trooper asked as they navigated the corridor outside the command centre. It was teeming with personnel heading to their evacuation points, or battle stations, and they had to fight their way through the harried crowd. “Thought I heard something squealing.”

 

“Can it, Haslam,” the non-com warned tightly as they pushed their way through to the corridor that lead to the med-evac ships. “You don’t know what the lieutenant-Commander’s been through. I saw him on the shuttle when they brought him back.”

 

“I’m right here,” Luke told them between gritted teeth, hating this, hating their judgments of him, hating the humiliation of being escorted in this manner, flinching at the curious glances they were receiving even amidst the urgency of evacuation. “You have to listen me, I can do some good in the air.” And as he said it Luke was struck with sudden remorse and shame; he’d also be safer in the air, he’d be less likely to be taken when in an x-wing…

 

_…Cowardice, Skywalker?…_

 

No, he wanted to help, not hide.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the Sergeant told him, her voice giving no room for more arguments, “I have my orders.”

 

Luke wanted to protest further, but he knew it was no use, knew that the soldier and her comrade would see their duty through despite his objections. His belly stirred again, the relentless feeling of danger rolled through him once more. _He_ was so very close, it almost felt like Escaal, he felt trapped and powerless, felt as though he was hanging in the spotlight of unwelcome attention and because of him people were going to die again.

 

He closed his eyes against his growing despair, allowed his guards to walk him, allowed the pain of his healing wounds wash over him, and he stumbled. There was a curse to his side and the hands on his arms grasped tighter, lifted him up, took more of his weight and carried him on.  There had to be something he could do, some way to break free and get to his ship, or… and he couldn’t stop the thought, couldn’t stop the idea from forming… someway to break free to give himself up to the approaching Imperials so that the Alliance here could escape to regroup elsewhere. But he knew that, even if he were to surrender, that Vader would never allow the others to go free and there would still be a slaughter.

 

A cool breeze and a light rain hit his face and he opened his eyes as he was carried across the threshold of a doorway and out into the compound of the base. They were between buildings heading toward the growing crescendo of noise as ships and fighters warmed their engines, as voices rose to shout and scream orders and as alarms and klaxons wailed in warning of the approaching Imperials. Luke and his escort joined the traffic of beings and vehicles heading for the landing zone, heading for their only hope of escape and salvation from the coming storm of battle. Above them a squad of X-Wings took to the sky and Luke could only long to be with them, could only silently wish that the Force be with his friends while he was being carried to safety. It felt wrong, it felt like abandonment, it was…

 

“Incoming!”

 

And he was thrown to the ground, landed roughly in the dirt as his guards threw themselves on top of him, protecting him as the first of the TIE bombers screamed overhead and dropped their load on the crowded landing zone.

 

ooOOoo

 

 

“Okay, Chewie, cut into sub-light engines,” Han said irritably. He was still riled, more at himself than at Chewbacca, or the Princess, for the needless remark he had thrown at Leia earlier. But, she had a way about her, could get under his skin just by being in the same room as him. The sooner he checked out the kid, saw that Luke was doing okay, he’d make his split from the Alliance just like he’d been promising himself over the last two years. “Soon as we break cloud cover go tell her highnessness…”

 

“Tell me what, Captain?”

 

He winced, kept his gaze to the star system ahead unwilling to look in her direction. “That we’ve arrived,” he finished. He squinted out the cockpit, as the Falcon navigated around a small, dead moon and glanced at the scanner. “This base of your is….”

 

The scanners showed a large mass with smaller images moving rapidly away from it toward Ra’imar, an alarm rose within the cockpit as Chewbacca roared out a warning.

 

“I know, I know, dammit!” Han yelled as he quickly flicked switches and initiated the Falcon’s defence systems. “Charge up the belly guns.”

 

“What is it?” Leia asked moving closer, but she knew, could feel the cold dread in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Capital ship,” Han told her as he drew himself from his chair. “Big one. Looks like a Command Vessel.”

 

“We have to help them,” Leia’s words were automatic.

 

“I wasn’t planning on running, your highness,” Han told her shortly.

 

She turned to him, surprised, grateful but his next words sobered her even more than the sight of the Super Star Destroyer hovering over the planet.

 

“Luke’s down there.”

 

She stood aside, letting him past. “What can I do?”

 

“Man the other gun.”

 

ooOOoo

 

 

Rhovan stumbled as the building shook violently from the bombardment outside, he ducked, his hands automatically covering his head in expectation of a collapse as the prefabricated durasteel of his room buckled and screeched in protest. The thunder of TIE bombers engines screeched overhead. He could hear the constant warning alarms through the base, the thudding of many running boot steps, screams and shouts from the corridor outside. The light fitting above him flickered and died leaving him in darkness and he staggered to the door as another wave of bombers droned overhead to drop their load followed by the clatter of anti-aircraft fire from the ground.

 

This time the explosions outside were closer and he was thrown to the floor as concussion waves slammed into the building and rocked the ground. Ceiling beams snapped and part of the ceiling fell, barely missing him as he curled into a protective ball. Light, smoke and the smell of battle washed into the room.

 

He lay still for a moment waiting for the vibrations to die, then he pushed himself to his feet. He had to get out of this room, had to get to a ship before the Empire started landing troops. He palmed the door mechanism, then he punched it in growing alarm when nothing happened and the panel slide to the side. The corridor was filled with personnel all seeming to head in different directions and responding to different orders he appeared to be the only one who didn’t know what he doing or where he should go.  His arm was grabbed and a bag was thrust into his arms.

 

“Sir!” A voice barked above the clamour. “You have to come with us!”

 

He glanced at the men around him, it was his intelligence guard, the officers who had interrupted his de-briefing saving him from any more of Rieekan’s questions, before looking down at the bag in his arms. It was his pack from Escaal. The one he had carried into Skywalker’s interrogation and had brought with him on the escape shuttle.  Ignoring his escort he opened the bag, and frowned at its contents.

 

He had to find the command centre. Holding onto the doorframe he glanced up and down the corridor before turning on the man who held his arm. “Take me to General Rieekan.” He shouted over the noise of the blitz. “The Command centre!”

 

“Sorry, sir,” he was answered. “We have to escort you to the evac ship and get you off-world.”

 

Again the building was rocked by explosions outside.

 

Rhovan scanned the man’s uniform for a rank. “Lieutenant,” he shouted with a smile, “who do you think will be your commanding officer once we get to Alliance Command?”

 

The younger man hesitated, glanced briefly at his companions, before making a decision. “If you’ll follow me, sir, the command centre is this way.”

 

They moved as quickly as possible, progress hampered by moving personnel, clumps of fallen masonry and debris. Rhovan stumbled, hung onto a fallen roof beam to stop his fall and, glancing up, he could see, through a gapping hole in the collapsed roof, a sky blackened by smoke and another wave of TIE bombers breaking through the dark plumes. He pushed himself on after his escort and almost fell through the open doorway of the command centre as the crump of explosions broke around the building and as the walls shook with the blast concussion.

 

Rieekan’s knuckles were white with effort as he gripped the communications console to keep himself upright as the ground undulated beneath his feet, the walls’ durasteel sheeting buckled and broke with shrieks of stressing metals.

 

“Sir!” A panicked voice called from scanner operations. “We have landing parties three kilometres from the base. Four sites, encircling us!”

 

Rieekan closed his eyes to the noise and the panic trying to find a little calm in the chaos while knowing the decision he was about to make would result in many deaths. He drew a breath and address Redhr. “They’re trying to block us in. Send ground support to their positions to hold them off. We need more time to evacuate.”

 

“Yessir.” And the tone of the colonel’s voice told him that Redhr understood.

 

“What of the evacuation? Our ships?”

 

“They’re hitting the hangers,” Redhr reported “and the Landing zone. We’ve lost three transports on the ground. The medical frigate reports that it has sustained damage and needs to leave now.”

 

Rieekan frowned. “Why is it still here?”

 

“Skywalker and his escort have yet to report in,” the colonel explained as another burst of explosions rocked the building almost knocking them both to their knees.

 

“Damn that boy,” Rieekan exploded, in uncustomary fury. “If he’s disobeyed a direct order I’ll…”

 

“I think Skywalker has more to worry about than your orders, Carlist.”

 

Redhr turned at Rhovan’s comment. “Shouldn’t you be with Intel, Major?” The retort was dry with distrust.

 

“If you’ll notice,” he gestured at the men with him, “they are watching my every move.”

 

Rieekan stepped between the men having to shout above the growing clamour. “Colonel give the order for the ground troopers, and get the medical ship off this planet with, or with out, Skywalker!”  He grabbed Rhovan by the sleeve and pulled him to the doorway. “Go with your goons, find a ship, Rhovan and get the hell out of this!”

 

Rhovan pulled away. “How many Imperial ships?”

 

“What does it matter?”

 

“Why haven’t they hit us from space? Why haven’t they wiped out the base from above and saved a costly fight?”

 

“We don’t have time for this, Rhovan,” but the interrogator could see that despite the situation he had piqued Rieekan’s curiosity.”

 

“How many ships?”

 

“Just one, a capital ship.”

 

Rhovan smiled thinly. “Vader.” He stated without doubt.

 

“Vader?” Rieekan didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurd suggestion or allow the needle of panic that spiked at the Dark Lord’s name full reign. “You think he would concern himself with such a small outpost?”

 

The floor rippled with tremors, sparks flew from instrumentation and lights flickered. Rhovan steadied himself against the nearest console. He fumbled in his bag and drew out Luke’s lightsaber, waving the hilt in Rieekan’s face. He had to shout above the clamour.  “I think he’d concern himself with Skywalker. Remember the reports we had from the first few years of the Empire, remember how Vader personally hunted down every Jedi that came to his attention?”

 

The General considered this as he pushed Rhovan‘s hand away, pushed the saber away, watched as the Major placed it back in the bag. “And you think this is all to kill Luke?”

 

Rhovan smiled. “Not kill. Capture.”

 

“Why?”

 

Rhovan wanted to know this, too. Wanted to know what it was about Luke that had somehow softened the Dark Lord. Wanted to know what it was about Vader that had caused Luke to gain the strength to fight back when he had seemed beaten.

 

 _“It was not_ I _who betrayed your father.”_

And it had something to do with Luke’s father. “His name, Rieekan!” He yelled to be heard.  “He claims to be Anakin Skywalker’s son. I think the answer lies there.”

 

There seemed to be a lull in the bombing, it seemed at that moment that all went quiet. Rieekan filled the pause. “Luke claims he told them where we were.”

 

Rhovan frowned, confused at the news, thinking back to Escaal, back to Luke’s interrogation. “That’s impos….” He started to say when the battle crashed back in.

 

“Sir! We have fresh bombers heading in, more landing ships!”

 

Rieekan tore his eyes away from Rhovan, focusing on the battle at hand. “We need to get all the ships off planet. Send more troops and speeders to meet those shuttles and get everyone else to their ships. Evacuate the command staff.” He stumbled as a fresh wave of bombs struck the ground. “Go everybody! Move!” He turned to Rhovan. “You, too, Major. Get to a ship!”

 

And Rhovan’s arm was taken again. “This way, sir!”

 

“Good Luck,” he offered the General and then he allowed them to move him, allowed them to dictate the pace as they ran for the evac ship. His mind was racing. Skywalker had lied to them, had used the lie to warn them of an attack. An attack he somehow knew was coming. The answer lay with his Jedi abilities, and somehow, it lay with the brief contact Luke had with Vader and…

 

A blaster was thrust into his hands, his train of thought broken.

 

“You might need this, sir!”

 

And they broke out of the building into anarchy.

 

ooOOoo

 

 

“Not so pretty down here on the ground, is it, flyboy?” Haslam shouted as he hauled Luke out of the dirt and rubble that had rained on them from the nearby explosion and sat him up during a lull in the bombing.

 

“Are you hurt?” the sergeant yelled, urgency clear in her voice above the din of the growing fight. There was a wave of fleeing bombers over head, a squad of Alliance X-Wings chasing them, the rattle of anti-aircraft fire. There were freighters lifting off, trying to escape with the precious cargo of personnel and supplies. There was the pop and crackle of flames and the cries of the injured and dying.  “We don’t have much time, there will be another wave of bombers and the transport won’t wait, we need you on it!”

 

Winded, sore and rubbing grit from his eyes, Luke shook his head. “I’m fine,” he assured her as they helped him to his feet. “Just get me to my Wing! I can help!”

 

“Never gonna happen!” she assured him tightly as she and Haslam supported him again. Luke was sure they were more concerned about keeping a hold of him and carrying out their orders than actually assisting him.

 

They staggered on toward the landing zone, taking cover and shelter with each passing sortie of Imperial bombers. It was becoming more difficult to travel through the growing pall of thick, black smoke that rose from the mounting number of bomb craters, damaged vehicles and burning bodies. It blackened the rain, stained their faces, stung their eyes and filled their lungs to create painful, hacking coughs. As they approached the landing zone, it became increasingly clear that the Imperial’s targets were not the buildings. They were aiming for the open areas, the landing zones and the hangers, and Luke felt a pang of worry for Artoo Detoo who he had asked to wait for him. The Empire’s attacked was planned to stop the Rebels from leaving the surface and he didn’t like to think what this meant for the personnel on the planet, or what it meant for him.

 

_“We will speak at length, young one...”_

 

Vader wanted him alive.

 

He stumbled, fell to his knees into a puddle. Rough hands dragged him up once more. He was trembling, exhausted, sweat mingled with rain water to wash black soot from his face.

 

“Nearly there, Lieutenant-Commander,” the sergeant assured him. They could hear the throb of the engines of the waiting frigate and through brief gaps in the billowing smoke they could  snatch glimpses of their goal, and others running toward it, on the far side of the landing zone.

 

Luke felt a surge of relief at her words. He was looking forward to sinking down onto a soft bunk, to pain killers and sleep. Then the guilt hit, he had wanted to get to a fighter, had wanted to do something. This was his fault; the Empire had followed him here. People were dying because of him and all he could think of was a medical bed.

 

_We will speak at length..._

 

Luke squeezed his eyes shut at the echo of Vader’s voice. Once on the frigate he would be safer, less likely to be captured. The med-evac ship would be only one of a dozen or more, the odds of being caught in the tractor beam of the Imperial ship would be in his favour. But others might not be so lucky.

 

“No,” he dug his heels into the ground, stopping them. “I have to get to my squad.”

 

“We’ve been through this,” the sergeant argued with angry exasperation and more than a little consternation as she tried to pull him on. “We have our orders, sir!”

 

“Then I’m countermanding them!” he shot back, desperate.

 

She shared a glance with her subordinate, who smirked, and then turned to Luke. “Sir, you don’t have that authority. Our orders came directly from General Rieekan and they still stand. If you won’t accompany us willingly I’ll have no choice but to place you under arrest.” She glanced, reluctantly, at the dressings on his wrists knowing what had caused the injuries beneath them.

 

“I’m a pilot,” Luke burst, furiously. “I belong in my ship, in the air, not running away when others are dying!”

 

“We’re all running away, sir!” She shouted back. “That’s the point of the evacuation. Haslam gimme your cuffs!”

 

“Now we’re talking,” the private beside Luke mumbled as he reached for a pair of binders.

 

Luke blanched in horror as Haslam approached him. “You can’t!” he protested, staggering back from the soldier. They couldn’t do this, they couldn’t put him chains like the Imperials had done. His still healing ankle turned on the uneven ground, but his curse of pain was swallowed by the throb of the med-evac’s engines deepening as the vessel, still several metres away, began to lift from the ground.

 

It drew all of their attention and, in that moment, the dynamics of the situation shifted for them all; their immediate futures now precarious and unclear.

 

“Shit!” Haslam swore in desperation as he watched the ship slowly rise into the air. “Shit!”

 

Luke stood frozen, staring after the ship. He caught a sudden movement out of the corner out of his eye, but didn’t have time to react before Haslam’s fist collided with his face. Unprepared for the attack, Luke was thrown backward, falling onto his tailbone. He cried out as a burst of pain surged up his back. Then he was putting his hands up to protect himself from the first kick from the Rebel soldier as Haslam bore down on him.

 

“Stop it, Haslam! Dammit, Haslam, get off him!”

 

The kicking stopped. Luke gasped in a heaving breath, coughed and spat blood into the dirt. He gingerly pushed himself up, grimacing and holding his aching ribs as old and new wounds protested at his movement. He wiped blood from his nose away with the back of his hand and glanced up as the two soldiers argued over him.

 

“That was our ride, too, Sarg!” the large soldier tore himself out of his sergeant’s grip and gestured at the ship rapidly disappearing into the sky. “That little shit sold us out!”

 

“Enough!” she yelled back, “that little shit is an officer and...”

 

“..and he sold us out! He’s kept us from our ride, our way off this rock!”

 

“You don’t know what happened to him, what they did,” she gestured to Luke still lying in the mud, “you don’t know how you’d react if you had been in his place.  You’re behaving like one of them!”

 

Haslam kicked at the dirt. “I wouldn’t have squealed, I would’ve died before selling out my guys and now we’re stuck here, because of him!”

 

Luke heaved in another breath, coughed as the acrid smoke caught the back of his throat and looked up sensing that something was suddenly different. It was quiet. There was still the crackling of flames, still shouts and cries from fleeing Rebels, still sporadic explosions from downed bombers and damaged vessels that had been caught on the ground, but something was missing.

 

“Sergeant,” he said, softly. “Listen.”

 

He was ignored as they argued.

 

“Sergeant!” He called, sharper. “You need to listen!”

 

Haslam turned on him. “We don’t need to....”

 

The non-com placed her hand on her companion’s arm. “Haslam, stop. He’s right.”

 

The bombing of the base had stopped and that could only mean one thing. Luke struggled to his knees, adrenalin kicking in to override much of his pain. The sergeant bent down to help him up.

 

“They’re sending in troopers,” she confirmed what Luke already knew, as Haslam drew his side arm, already on the look out for the white armour of Imperial Stormtroopers, “they want prisoners.”

 

_“We will speak at length...”_

 

“Please,” he gasped, knowing that there was only one prisoner the Empire wanted. The thought beat frantically within him...

 

... _me, they want me. He wants me..._

... “get me to the fighter hanger.”

 

Haslam turned on him again. “Save your ass, but forget about us? We’re the expendable ones, right? We’re the ones who buy time for the higher ranks to cut and run! This isn’t about you!”

 

_…but it is… he’s coming for me…_

 

The big soldier continued, “We oughta cuff you and leave you here for them!”

 

The Sergeant shoved him back, stepped between Haslam and Luke. “That’s not us! We don’t leave our own! We’re infantry, we chose this, remember? It’s what we do, it’s how we fight!”

 

The soldier looked chastened. “Thecla, I... “ He to gestured the other side of the compound. “There are other evac ships, if we can…”

 

She looked over in the directions of the other landing zones and shook her head. “We’d never make it. The hangers are closer. We can’t carry out the General’s orders now, but we can get the Lieutenant-Commander to his fighter and at least one of us can get out of here,” she glanced in the direction of the hangers as Haslam paled and fell silent.  “If either are still there,” she added before turning to Luke and pulling her side arm from its holster. She thumbed the safety off as she offered him her other arm for support.  “You’d better be worth it!” she warned.

 

As he took the sergeant’s arm Luke remembered Isla, the housekeeper on Escaal, who had detonated the bomb that covered his flight and killed her. _"You'd better be worth the trouble, Luke."_

 

Luke still didn’t know if he was.

 

ooOOoo

 

Another Rebel ship came into view of the Executors main view port, trailed by an X-Wing escort. Vader smiled beneath his mask as he recognised the markings as a med-evac vessel. He closed his eyes and gathered the Force around him, probing the ship as a squadron of TIE fighters moved into intercept. His son was not on board, his son was...

 

_...they want me... he wants me..._

 

... still on the planet below. Still running for his life and scared. Still injured and ignorant of the power he could wield. And so angry, so afraid, full of so much pent up frustration that the Force seemed to vibrate from his presence.

 

_Use these feelings, my son, they give you strength._

 

“Mi’Lord,” Ozzel stood at the Dark Lord’s back waiting to give his update on the unfolding battle.

 

“Yes, Admiral?”

 

“The troops are approaching the Rebel’s encampment. We have recalled the bombers as ordered...” He paused, trailed off and plunged ahead, his voice holding a minute tremble. “Five rebel ships have managed to escape into hyper space and...”

 

“They are not important, Admiral. Skywalker is still on the planet and it is he that we are here for.” He abruptly turned around causing Ozzel to step back a pace. “Have my shuttle ready I wish to be present when he is apprehended.”

 

Ozzel bowed as Vader swept past. “As you wish, Mi’Lord.”

 

 

ooOOoo

 

The hanger was in flames. The intense heat snatched the oxygen from Luke’s lungs, tearing his last shreds of hope with it. If Artoo had been here, had waited, then his little droid was gone, was burning along with any personnel and X-Wings still in the hanger as the bombs hit. He closed his eyes, briefly allowing grief for his friend to flare within. He hoped Wedge and the others had got out.

 

“Now, what?” Haslam asked the question that was on all of their minds. They were lying prone in a bomb crater, looking out over the edge at the burning building. They could hear sporadic gunfire and shouts of “fall back, fall back” coming from the perimeter of the base and knew that the outer defences were crumbling. Another Imperial landing craft flew low over head, but there was no following fire from the Rebel anti-aircraft guns; they had fallen silent a while ago, the crews either wiped out by the very ships they were trying to shoot down, or evacuated on the last of the freighters.

 

“We can’t stay here,” the sergeant said, “They’ll be in the base in minutes.”

 

“And go where?”

 

“We hide, lay low, wait for our chance to work past them into the woods and make a break for it.”

 

“They have troopers, seekers, repulsor tanks, scout walkers, they’ll turn each building inside out and burn it. There will be nowhere left to hide…”

 

“Then we fight,” she countered. “There will be others trapped like us. We can…”

 

Luke rolled onto his back, ignoring the two soldiers as they frantically discussed their lack of options. He gazed up at the sky, watching the smoke from the base billowing up to meet the glowing light of Ra’imar’s dawn. He knew there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Within a few minutes, their position would be over-run and they – he - would be taken. He struggled to suppress his panic. He couldn’t be captured again, couldn’t be subjected to a tiny cell and more questions, more…

 

_“We have more than one droid..”_

 

He closed his eyes against the rush of memories, against the terror they evoked for him. The memory of waking to find Vader holding his chin, of the black mask mere centimetres from his face, of the taunts and of his permission to Dade to continue his torture before cutting him down. Of giving respite only to promise a future of further torment…

 

_“We will speak at length, young one.”_

 

He couldn’t be captured, had no wish to go through it all again. But he would. Haslam had been wrong. This was all about him.  He knew that Vader had followed him here, knew that Vader was coming for him, he knew it was because of who his father had been, of what he had achieved above Yavin. He knew because he could feel it, that growing sense of anxiety and understanding that the Force had gifted him.

 

It was all about him. But it didn’t need to be about anyone else. There had been too many deaths recently to save him; Isla, Taln, the nameless doctor and countless other innocents on Escaal who had paid with their lives for the Alliance attack and his subsequent escape.

 

No-one else.

 

“Haslam’s right,” he said quietly, interrupting the two soldiers. He opened his eyes and looked at the big infantryman. “There is nowhere to go, no hiding place that they won’t look, while they have something to look for.”

 

“What are you talking about?” the sergeant wanted to know, she was dirty, dishevelled, looked scared.

 

Luke glanced up as a small lambda class shuttle cut a path through the smoke and the clouds. “Me,” he told her. “Haslam has been right all along. I can buy you both time to get away. If they are focused on me you might be able to slip through their lines.”

 

“No! We don’t leave our own!” she protested. She glanced at Haslam for support but the big man looked away, unable to meet her eyes, and watched the road ahead for the approaching army.

 

“I’m not fit!” Luke yelled, trying to convince her. He held his weakened hands up to her. “I couldn’t hold a blaster for any length of time. I’d slow you both down and you know it. But it’s me Vader wants. You know who I am, you know I’m force sensitive and…”

 

“… and I know what the Sith does to Jedi,” she finished for him.

 

“They do the same to any Rebel!” he reminded her. It was a fate they would all share if he didn’t give them this chance.

 

“Let him do it, Thecla!” Haslam urged. “If he wants to do it, then let them have him back!” They could hear engines now as the Imperial army marched closer on their position. “We should move back, secure better cover!” He was shouting over the top of the growing clamour approaching them, becoming more desperate.  “We need to go now!”

 

“Go!” Luke told her. He could see her indecision. She was terrified, she wanted to run, but she wanted to be the good soldier and not leave him. “I know what I’m doing.” He saw regret flicker briefly in her eyes.

 

“Here,” she said quietly. Luke could barely hear her over the approaching armour. “Take my pistol!” She held out her gun.

 

He smiled. “I won’t need it.”

 

Luke watched as Haslam grabbed his sergeant’s arm, dragged her around the corner of the nearest building. Luke hoped that as soon as they were out of sight they would be running full sprint. He heaved in a breath, shoved away his own urge to run and pushed himself to his unsteady feet. Holding his freshly bruised ribs he started to limp toward the only roadway out of the base. Towards the advancing Imperials.

 

ooOOoo

 

Darth Vader was striding down the shuttle's ramp before it had settled into the dust. The battle for the base would soon be over and a quick mopping up exercise would deal with the trailing remnants of rebels. Though there had been prisoners taken, early reports indicated that Skywalker was not among them. Vader looked around, taking in the columns of black smoke rising above the tree line from the Rebel encampment in the distance, the squads of troopers prodding captives to the rear of the lines for processing. He suppressed a surge of satisfaction at the fearful glances he received, at how heads bowed as already battered spirits crashed into bleak helplessness at his presence. They all knew they were doomed.

 

“My Lord Vader!”

 

He turned finding one of Veers’ officer’s approaching him. “What is it Captain?”

 

The man snapped to attention. “The front lines are nearing the base. All outer defences have been eradicated and we have taken prisoners as ordered.”

 

Vader struggled to fight his impatience. He knew all of this. “You are aware of our primary target?”

 

“Yes, Mi’lord, all troopers have been made aware of Skywalker’s description.”

 

"I shall hold you personally responsible for Skywalker's safety, Captain. I suggest you remind them that Skywalker is to be taken alive." 

 

The officer visibly swallowed. “Of course, my lord.”

 

Vader dismissed the officer from his attention and reached out into the Force.

 

# …no one else…

# A fleeting thought, a feeling of resignation and conviction both under-ridden by a deep, enduring fear, a knowledge of what was to come. Vader frowned, closed his eyes and drew the Force deeper about him, feeling it thicken and strengthen and he searched its twisting threads…

 

… _no one else…_

_…about me…_

_…no one else…_

 

His eyes snapped open with sudden realisation, with elation and a dark satisfaction. His son was giving himself up, sacrificing himself to give his compatriots a chance at freedom. A foolish gesture; he would be taken, but there would be no escape for the rebels still on the planet. They would pay for their treachery with their lives, and his son would learn a valuable lesson.

 

He addressed the Captain. “Bring me a speeder. Have the forward lines halt and maintain their positions. All weapons should be on stun, but they should not fire on any target unless they are provoked. Is that clear?”

 

“I.. uh.. yes, my lord, as you wish.” The confusion was evident in the man’s eyes but he still relayed Vader’s orders without question.

 

A speeder was beside him within moments. Vader chose to pilot the craft himself.

 

ooOOoo

 

“Leia!”

 

“I see it!” The princess yelled, her chair in the gun turret pivoted as she followed the ship falling away from the Destroyer.  “Another troop carrier heading for the surface.”

 

“Chewie!” Han bellowed into his comm from the other turret. “Follow it down, we need to give the guys down there some more time to get out.”

 

Leia’s stomach plunged as Chewbacca brought the Falcon down into Ra’imar’s atmosphere, over the burning remains of the base. It was surrounded with Imperial armaments and troopers moving in ever closer, breaking through the forests that surrounded the outpost. Leia was amazed at their numbers for such a small outpost, it seemed like overkill to her. “Han?” she questioned. “Do you see this?”

 

“I know, I know!” Han’s voice sounded troubled, frantic. Leia knew he was thinking the same as she.

 

Had Luke got out in time?

 

“Okay, Your Highness, let’s see how much damage we can do before we have to cut and run! Let’s take out that transport before the troopers get off!”

 

 

ooOOoo

 

 

Luke bit back a cry as his legs finally gave way under him and he fell to the damp ground. It had become strangely quiet now; no gun fire, no cries, just the monotonous sound of the tanks, of the scout walkers and the soldiers as they marched forward and his own laboured breathing. Luke debating whether he should just sit here to conserve his energy and wait for them to arrive, or to try and stand up and continue on and meet them on their way in.

 

But he knew he didn’t want to do this at all. He wanted to turn and run, flee from what he had been walking toward. But what other choice did he have? It was his fault the Empire was here in the first place. His fault people were dying yet again.

 

Luke steeled himself, gritted his teeth and pushed himself to his feet. He would do this standing, he was not going to be on his hands and knees when the Empire arrived. _That would come later_... Luke quickly squashed that though. _Not now!_

 

He took another step forward, grimacing at the grating from his ankle, from the spasms of pain that lanced through his back and rib cage. Breathing harshly he glanced up, wincing as he looked into the bright, morning sunlight. He could see them clearly now, the bipedal AT-STs, the smaller 2-M repulsor tanks and the squadrons of stormtroopers. He frowned. Something wasn’t right. They were no longer moving, engines idling rather than accelerating. Luke paused, seeing lights winking from the Imperial lines. Macrobinoculars. He wondered if it would do him any good to raise his hands.

 

But what were they waiting for?

 

 The clouds suddenly closed in, drenching the area with rain and shadow. Then the line of soldiers opened. A speeder broke through heading in his direction, stopping several metres away. Luke’s heart hammered harder as Darth Vader stepped out. His knees nearly buckled as his muscles loosened, unwanted tremors shivering through his body. He heaved in a gasp of breath, tried to steady his horror and anxiety, tried to keep his wits about him and not just keel over onto the ground in a puddle of panic.

 

That thought conjured such a vivid mental image that Luke smiled in spite of himself, nearly laughing aloud while he chided himself for allowing the Dark Lord to have such an effect. But still the fear remained, and anger. A tight twisting, hateful, fury. The man standing waiting for him was the same man who killed his father, whose troopers murdered his aunt and uncle for the crime of buying droids, and who had kill Ben despite the old man drawing back and raising his sword in capitulation.

 

He frowned, squinted in the growing deluge, blinked away water as it dripped from his hair. Why was Vader standing back, why wasn’t he ordering his troopers forward to swamp him, to bind him and drag him to their master’s feet? What purpose could this delay have? It only put off the inevitable, made his feelings all that more intense and...

 

Luke smiled grimly, suddenly understanding. That _was_ the purpose, Vader wanted him swamped by fear. He wasn’t about to make it that easy for the Sith Lord.  With another breath he swiped rain water and soot from his face and took a faltering step forward.

 

ooOOoo

 

Vader’s own heart quickened at the sight of his son standing alone in the rain in the middle of the roadway. Even from a distance he could see that Luke had not yet recovered from his interrogation on Escaal. He was slightly bent over and holding one arm close into his rib cage. Vader closed his eyes and reached out with the Force to tentatively touch his son’s presence. He smiled. Luke was weakened in body, his spirit damaged by his experiences but his hatred, fear and anger sang in the darkness. However, these were tempered with the feverant belief that he was doing the right thing, saving the lives of his compatriots.

 

 Luke would learn that self-sacrifice rarely accomplished anything and only by living could one achieve their goals.

 

They both remained still, each regarding the other. Vader could feel his son’s curiosity, his heightened anxiety, terror and anger grow with each passing second as he waited, savouring the moment. Then there was something else, and he frowned as he sensed humour and a small, bright, flash of triumph as the boy wiped a hand over his face and limped forward. He fought a momentary flash of pride smiled to himself; his son would not allow his fear to overwhelm him, had decided to end the moment. Had decided to get the inevitable over with.

 

 Vader gestured to the troopers behind him. “Bring him to me.” Pride or not, the boy needed to be brought to his knees.

 

Four soldiers from the front line began to move toward Luke, blasters high and pointed directly at him.

 

ooOOoo

 

The sight of the soldiers running toward him dried Luke’s mouth. He braced himself for what was to come; for armoured hands taking hold of him, the solders dragging him to their master and...

 

“Skywalker!”

 

Luke turned around in horror to find Haslam and Thecla sprinting toward him, opening fire on the approaching soldiers with deadly accuracy.

 

“No!” He yelled, throwing another look toward Vader. More Imperials were rushing toward them. “Get back!”

 

There was a roar of engines from above and instinctively he threw himself flat into the gravel road as a large craft dropped from overhead. A shadow passed over him, and lifters gently touched down next to him. Above the noise of the spacecraft he could hear anxious twitters and beeps of an astrodroid. Glancing up he saw the landing gear of an X-Wing fighter only a meter from his head, between him and the Imperial forces.  He grinned. Artoo had made it!

 

Gloved hands pulled him from the dirt. He could hear more pistol fire. Shots coming from the stormtroopers.

 

“Come on, sir! We need to get you into this bird,” Thecla shouted in his ear as Haslam provided covering fire, keeping the soldiers back from them.

 

“What about you!” he asked, torn, desperate despite his sudden hope that he might get out of this situation after all. But, at what cost?

 

“We’ll be fine, sir!” She pointed up.

 

Luke followed her finger and grinned at the familiar shape of the Millennium Falcon as it dropped down through the clouds after a troop carrier and opened fire, bringing the craft down in a blaze of fire and noise. The Falcon turned, a hundred and eighty degrees and focused its cannons on the assembled Imperials, sending the soldiers running, toppling Scouts and exploding tanks.

 

“If you comm the captain for us, he can pick us up!”

 

“Okay, but I need a leg up!” Luke yelled over the growing tumult of the renewed battle.

 

“Haslam!” She called, pulling off a few shots of her own. “The Lieutenant-Commander needs a punt up!”

 

ooOOoo

 

Enraged, Vader ploughed through his own soldiers, throwing them to the side with a flick of his wrists. “Stun shots only! Skywalker must not be harmed.”

 

He was so close to finally claiming Luke. He could not lose him again. He stalked forward, pulling his lightsaber from his belt to parry the incoming blaster shots. Behind him he could hear the metal footsteps of the AT-STs as they followed, the whine as they adjusted their guns to open fire on the rebel fighter.

 

_No! Luke..._

He turned, slashing backward to take the legs out from the closest walker before it could make the shot that would kill his son.  It toppled over, crashing on top of a stormtrooper squadron, killing them instantly.  That made the others hesitate and again he started forward, snarling as a rebel soldier helped Luke climb into the cockpit of the X-Wing that had come between them.  He gripped the saber and prepared to throw it.

 

ooOOoo

 

Luke lifted the helmet from the seat as he scrambled into the fighter and quickly jammed it on his head, not bothering even to try and fasten the clasp with his awkward fingers. “Okay, I’m in,” he called as he flicked the switch to lower the canopy. “You and Thecla get clear and...” there was a sudden feeling of dread. Luke jerked his head up, just in time to see Vader throw his lightsaber. “No!”

 

The sabre spun with incredible speed. Luke heard a scream and a horrified shout of “Thecla!” before everything was muted as the canopy closed him off from the sounds of the fight. The sabre flew back into the Dark Lord’s hand.

 

Luke briefly closed his eyes, fighting the urge to climb from the X-Wing and go to the sergeant’s aid. She had risked her life to get him to safety, had come back to help him despite the odds against them. The only way to honour her was to continue, despite his own feelings that it should have been him.

 

_Me... it was meant to be me._

 

He swallowed a rising tide of bile. Tried to focus

 

“Artoo,” he called, as he switched on the comm and the chatter of the battle above the planet flooded his ears. “Get us ready to get out of here as soon as I give the word!.” He changed channels “Han, do you read me?”

 

“Loud n’ clear, kid!” Solo sounded wired, full of the battle and pleased to hear him. There was a blast of Wookiee and quiet murmur of a female voice. Although Luke couldn’t make out the words, he knew it was Leia. He couldn’t help but smile, heartened by her presence. “’You the one in the Wing with Vader glaring at it?”

 

“That’s me,” Luke affirmed.

 

“Figures,” Han mumbled.

 

Luke smiled despite the circumstances. “When I lift off the two troopers with me won’t have any cover, I need you to come down and get them.”

 

“There’s a lot of Imperial armour there, kid,” Han observed, concern in his voice. “I’m not sure what...”

 

“I’ll stay on the ground,” Luke assured him, his eyes still on Vader. The Sith Lord was getting closer. “They won’t fire, he wants me alive.”

 

There was a brief hesitation. “Okay, Luke, copied and understood.” The concern in the Corellian’s voice sounded deeper. “Chewie, bring her around. We need to...”

 

Confidant that Han would do as he asked, Luke cut the connection, switching the comm channel back to the battle above, trying to catch what he faced off planet. There was less chatter now; mainly pilots declaring that they were bugging out, that they had done all they could.  That meant he and Han would need to run a gauntlet of TIEs alone. Luke watched the Falcon rake another path through the Imperial lines as Han brought her down behind him, the ramp lowering before the ship touched ground. The Falcon’s cannons turned to face the advancing troopers and opened fire as Haslam dragged Thecla’s limp body to safety.

 

The X-Wing shuddered. “Artoo! Shields!” Luke shouted thinking the ship had taken a hit. But it rocked again. The canopy cracked open allowing in the smell of the battle and the death around him. “Artoo? What?” Then he saw Vader standing with his arm outstretched toward him. The X-Wing gave a metallic groan and the canopy inched further up. Stunned at the power Vader was wielding, feeling the strength of the Sith Lord’s darkness around his ship, Luke could only watched as the man moved closer.

 

The ship shuddered again, snapping Luke from his stupor. “Artoo, punch it!”  He frantically keyed his comm as Artoo increased the thrust and the X-Wing lifted briefly from the ground before it jerked, bucked, and touched back down, engines whining in protest. “Han! I need help!”

 

“...else new?” Han broke in, but the Falcon’s guns blazed as she rose into the air and the ground around Vader erupted. The Dark Lord stumbled backward and suddenly the X-Wing was free.

 

“Time to go, Luke!” Han advised.

 

“I’m with you!”  The canopy slammed down and the X-Wing soared into the sky closely followed by the Millennium Falcon.

 

ooOOoo

 

Vader picked himself up from the dirt. His measured breathing had quickened, his prosthetic right arm had been damaged; it grated and jerked as he clenched his fingers into a fist and turned his eyes to the sky as his son, disappeared from view. Bitter disappointment filled him, and a sense of failure he had not felt in a long time...

 

_Sand beneath his knees as he made his apologies and a pledge. “But I promise, I won’t fail again.”_

He discarded the memory of his mother’s funeral, fought down the momentary feeling of sorrow; that same sense of empty grief he had felt on Escaal when Luke had been snatched from him by the traitor, Rhovan. It was thick, dark and all consuming and the hope of bringing his son to his side had been thwarted for the second time in just a few days.

 

Hope. Should a Sith even have such feelings?

 

_“Know the power of the dark side. The power to save Padme.”_

 

Hope had never granted him anything. Hope was irrelevant and it should be tossed aside.

 

Vader caught his anger tightly, keeping it close and nurturing the connection it gave him to the Force. He lowered his head as his mechanised breathing settled and he allowed the rush of oxygen to help clear his mind. He may have failed here, but there would be other times, other opportunities. He was sure of one thing; his son would, one day, stand by his side.

 

“My Lord,” the captain came hurrying up to him. “ My Lord, the Executor reports that they have the ships under pursuit and...”

 

“Tell Ozzel to recall his fighters,” he rumbled. “Skywalker will not allow himself to be captured now and he is no good to me dead.”

 

“Of course, Mi’ Lord.”

 

Vader turned from the man, turned his attention back to the sky. He allowed the rain to wash over his mask, ignoring a momentary desire to feel it wash over him, to feel the cool wetness against his skin once more. He reached out, looking for his son’s presence before he was snatched away by hyperspace, but all he was left with were the trailing strands of his son’s elation and relief.

 


	4. Rhovan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding sanctuary at the main Alliance base Luke discovers that the events of Escaal and Ra'imar are not so easily forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Characters of the Chief Technician, Ysabel Jaconti bellows to Louise T. The Character of Ehlen Anders belongs to Kazlynh and I thank them both for allowing me to use them in my fic.

** Dark Times: Chapter Three **

 

** Rhovan **

 

 Major Erwin Rhovan dropped his bag and slumped against the bulk head of the battered Alliance freighter and passed a weary hand over his face.  He heaved in a steadying breath amazed that he had survived the flight to the landing zone through the Imperial barrage. Amazed to have got on board the ship, but even more amazed that the damaged ship had managed not only to get into the air and out of the atmosphere but past the waiting Imperial Capital ship and TIE fighters and into hyperspace.

 

 It was as though Imperial attention had been directed elsewhere.

 

_Skywalker..._

 

What was it about the boy that kept his thoughts coming back to him? What had happened in that cell on Escaal? Why had the Dark Lord of the Sith’s presence given Luke renewed strength when he had been at breaking point? And he had been, there was no doubt that the pilot had been cracking; injured, beaten, drugged, electrocuted, deprived of sleep, food and given little water the boy’s resolve had been failing.  Then there was Vader’s arrival and the boy had somehow managed to turn it around, fought harder against them all.

 

_His father._

_Something about his father._

 

It kept coming back to that. It all kept coming back to Anakin Skywalker.  The Jedi Knight from the Clone Wars who was touted as being the Rebel pilot’s father.

 

_“I won’t betray the Alliance as you betrayed my father.”_ Skywalker’s declaration to Vader as he hung in chains, his speech slurred by drugs and a swollen mouth.

 

_“It was not I who betrayed your father.”_  The Dark Lord’s retort.

 

Something had passed between the two. Something unsaid, but understood only by them, for it had been at that moment that Skywalker had spat at the Dark Lord and Vader had viciously retaliated, almost knocking the boy senseless before agreeing with Rhovan to continue his interrogation.

 

It was intriguing and yet frustrating.

 

As intriguing and frustrating as the mystery surrounding why was his own Alliance debriefing halted, and by whom? Rieekan’s surprise and anger had been palpable as the two Intelligence officers invaded the room and demanded an end to the interrogation.

 

Irritated by the lack of answers to his questions, he rubbed grit from his eyes and looked around, bringing his thoughts to the here and now. The passenger lounge and corridors beyond, were packed with personnel, many of whom were injured. The air in the ship was thick with the smell of sweat and cordite, of rain soaked fabrics and blood. But, despite the hundreds packed aboard, it was surprisingly quiet. There were occasional cries of pain, muted assurances of safety and of aid arriving soon but there were few conversations. Most beings on board were just thankful to have survived and sorrowful to have lost friends.

 

“Sir,” a voice whispered in his ear. “I think we should move from here.”

 

Rhovan glanced into the face of his surviving minder, noticing for the first time how young the man actually was. The Intelligence officer’s eyes flicked nervously to the side and Rhovan followed the direction, seeing a group of fighter technicians looking angrily in his direction. His heart sank. He was still wearing his Imperial uniform adorned with the insignia of an interrogator.

 

“I think you might be right,” he agreed, now was not the time for an ugly scene. He threw his bag over his shoulder and gripped his blaster pistol tighter.

 

“We’ll find the Captain and secure some safer accommodation,” the man suggested a little nervously.

 

Keeping his eyes on the soldiers, Rhovan lifted the back pack he had carried from Escaal and pushed himself away from the wall. “Lead the way.”

 

They had only taken a few steps before their way was blocked by a cordon of damp, dirty and bloodied rebels, heavy blasters cradled in their arms. “Didn’t know we’d taken a prisoner,” one of them drawled drawing his eyes up and down Rhovan.

 

The intel officer stepped between them, held up a placating hand. “Step aside and...”

 

“...and what?” The man squared up to the young officer. Anger, loss and frustration fuelling him. “Just because you’re a spook doesn’t scare me, kid.”

 

There was silence in the lounge, all attention on them. The only noise the continued moans and cries of the injured.

 

Rhovan stepped forward, gently moving his escort to the side and faced the angry rebel. “Do you want a piece of me, mechanic?” he asked quietly.

 

The man laughed, looked to his companions, amazed by the reaction he had achieved. “I can take you,” he affirmed, bolstered by his audience. “You only pick on people when they’re unable to fight back, you...”

 

“And you are making the same assumptions as the Empire,” Rhovan told him, voice still low and calm. “You are attacking something that you don’t understand, not taking the time to figure out the truth of the matter before acting.” He paused, sizing up his opponent. “This is a fight that you don’t want, my friend.”

 

“I ain’t your friend,” the man lunged with fist high.

 

Rhovan caught the hand, twisted it around and rammed the mechanics arm up his back. He pushed the man away from him and let him go. The mechanic stumbled, turned around and charged again, this time enraged.

 

“Greland!”

 

The shout from the doorway halted the man. He skidded, turned around but he lost none of the anger. “This is the bastard that got Luke!”

 

Rhovan watched the Chief technician make her way toward them. Her eyes scrutinised him as she approached. “Then we owe the Imp for bringing him back to us.” She told the angry mechanic.

 

“But Wedge said...”

 

“I know what Wedge said,” She cut him off sharply, glancing in his direction. “I know what happened to Luke, Greland. But I also know he’s alive and back with us because of the Major here. Now get the hell outta here. Report to the Captain! There’s repairs needing done to this bucket!”

 

The group of mechanics moved away toward the doorway, Greland drawing Rhovan a final look of disgust.

 

“Thank you, Chief,” Rhovan was grateful for her intervention.

 

She held Rhovan’s gaze as she pushed an unruly lock of dirty, greasy hair behind her ear. There was a deep burn on the back of her hand that must be hurting like hell, she smelled of oil and smoke. “I just need my men in one piece,” she told him sourly, before turning on her heel and following the mechanics. But she faltered, turned to look at him, and added. “I meant what I said. We owe you for bringing Luke back.” She gestured to the room and the people in it. “I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble.”

 

Rhovan merely nodded in acceptance and watched her leave the room his thoughts once more back with Luke Skywalker.

 

 

ooOOoo 

 

The stars beyond the cockpit window streaked into infinity as the X-Wing accelerated to lightspeed. Behind him Artoo Detoo twittered his relief and Luke closed his eyes drawing in a calming breath, his own relief muted and tired after the events of the last few hours and yet another close escape.

 

If the sergeant and the trooper hadn’t come back for him, if Han hadn’t suddenly appeared with guns blazing he would now be Imperial hands once more. He would be in Vader’s custody.

 

_All those troops. All that hardware. For me..._

It was a terrifying thought.

 

The people on Escaal, all the personnel on Rai’mar who had been unable to escape, dead. The sergeant, Thecla, wounded by Vader’s saber.

 

Because of him.

 

What made him so special? That he had destroyed the Death Star and an example needed to made of him? That he was Skywalker’s son and Vader had to destroy him, too?

 

Perhaps both.

 

Eyes still closed he took another deep breath, feeling the adrenalin that had kept him moving on the planet seep from his muscles, feeling his heart slow as he calmed.

 

_“We will talk at length, young one.”_

 

Vader’s threat haunted him and he couldn’t shake the image of the Dark Lord standing among his army holding out his arm toward him; the X-Wing rocking, straining to take off, but held down as though by a tractor beam; the canopy opening against its will threatening to expose him to the troopers running his way. For a few, terrifying seconds he had thought the Dark Lord had him.

 

So much power.

 

Could the Force really gift someone such abilities? It seemed impossible, but he had heard the stories of the Jedi Knights from fellow rebels who had lived through the Clone Wars; had heard a few stories about his own father’s exploits and those of Ob-Wan Kenobi.

 

_“You must learn the ways of the Force...”_

 

Old Ben’s assertion seemed so far away now, so long ago, and he had learned little of the Force since that first journey on the Falcon. The Force was almost as unknown to him now as it had been when he was nothing more than a farm-hand on his uncle’s land. He could sense things, feel things, that others explained away as instinct and gut feelings. He could, if he concentrated really hard, lift a small object a few centimetres off the ground mostly for the amusement of his squadron and he had the nagging suspicion, strengthened by seeing Vader wield his power, that party-tricks weren’t how the gift was supposed to be used.

 

_“Vader was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force.”_

 

Dark Side…

 

The term implied evil.

 

How could a power, an energy field, as Ben described it, have sides?

 

And how many times in the past had he pondered these same questions and wondered if he would ever learn more to fulfil his desire to be a Jedi Knight like his father? How could he ever become a Jedi Knight when he didn’t even know what it meant to _be_ a Jedi Knight.

 

_“We will talk at length, young one.”_

 

“Dammit!”

 

He opened his eyes, angry at himself for allowing his thoughts to wander and linger on the lack of answers. He squinted, blinked and tentatively touched his cheek below his right eye, suddenly realising that his eye was swollen and sore, his nose tender.

 

“Shit…” He recalled Haslam’s fist colliding with his face, remembered the kicks he’d received from the angry soldier when he’d fallen to the ground and, now that he was calming from the fight and flight, the pain was growing from uncomfortable stiffness to unbearable levels. He shifted in the cramped cockpit, reaching for the med-pack in the pocket of his flight suit and the ampoules of analgesic stored there.  His still-healing back injury grated with the movement and he gritted his teeth as he ripped open the package with tingling fingers and stabbed his leg with the needle. His rib cage ached, his feet felt numb. “Shit!”

 

Behind him Artoo burbled a question and Luke glanced at the translation. The little droid was asking what was wrong, and if there was anything he could do to help.

 

Luke smiled at the concern, feeling the exhaustion drag him down, feeling the strong drug kicking into his system. “I just need some shut eye, Artoo. Wake me when we reach Adralii.”

 

The droid tooted his ascent and took over the controls. Luke closed his eyes again, trying to focus beyond the fading pain, and allowed restless sleep to claim him.

 

ooOOoo

 

 

The landing zone on Adralii appeared chaotic but it was clearly very carefully organised. The evacuation ships were all in low orbit, waiting their call to land.  The captain had broadcast the procedures, warning that due to the overcrowding of the base many personnel would be assigned temporary accommodation until more permanent postings could be organised. He had also warned that disembarkation would take a while and that once off the ships there would be more waiting while identifications were checked and quarters assigned. The injured would be disembarked first.

 

Rhovan found his escort bypassing procedure, hurrying the Major forward and down the gangplank along with the wounded. The younger man’s insistence was becoming annoying. Rhovan couldn’t help but wonder again about who had not only given the orders to have his debriefing with Rieekan stopped, and who had had the minders set on him.

 

“This way, Major, please.”

 

Rhovan sighed and stepped down onto Adralii soil. He drew in a breath of warm, humid air. The dense atmosphere was heavy with the stench of fuel and full of the noise of ships’ engines and of personnel shouting orders and directions to the arriving refugees from Ra’imar. The base was situated on the forested side of an ancient volcano, its buildings spread throughout the small clearings, connected by pathways and roads. The cone of the volcano rose high over them, its crater spewing plumes of dark smoke into the cloudless sky.

 

Rhovan considered, with a smile, that the Alliance could have, perhaps, picked a safer spot to set up camp.

 

“Major, please! This way.”

 

Shouldering his bag, he followed his escort, taking a path off the main road way and walking several metres down through the trees that rose either side. He hoped that wherever he was heading would be somewhere where he would be allowed to wash and change. He had not seen a shower since Escaal, had not had a chance to wash the grime and dirt from his face and he felt conspicuous in his filthy Imperial uniform.

 

“How long has the Alliance been here?” he asked, blinking as the sun broke through the tree cover.

 

The intel officer turned to regard him. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you.”

 

“Ah-huh,” Rhovan remarked, not really surprised. “So, can you tell me where we’re headed?”

 

“Sorry, sir. I’m not....”

 

“...at liberty to tell me that. I’m impressed with your attention to duty, but may I at least ask if I am a guest or a prisoner?”

 

At last a smile. “You’re not in binders, are you, sir?”

 

The sound of speeder engines caught their attention and they stepped to the side as two vehicles approached and passed them, heading for the landing zone. Rhovan noted the personnel inside were an assortment of armed intel and medical staff.

 

_Interesting mix..._

 

There were more rumblings of engines, this time from above them. The noise thundered off the side of the mountain as an X-Wing and a saucer shaped ship came down low over the forest. He heard a distant cry of “It’s Skywalker!” as the ships came in for a final descent.

 

Several people broke away and started to run back up the incline as the speeders gunned their engines and increased their speed.

 

“Damn,” he muttered, knowing what was about to happen. He turned on his heels and headed after the speeders. He had to see this.

 

“Sir!”

 

Rhovan ignored the plaintive cry from his escort, leaving the young man unable to do anything but follow him back up the mountain path.

 

 As Rhovan breached the curve of the incline he could see the fighter and the freighter jammed together on the landing zone only a few metres apart. He was impressed. Only skilled pilots could have put down their ships in such a cramped area.

 

The X-Wing canopy cracked open and several technicians ran forward with ladders for the pilot to exit. More ran for the gangway of the freighter as it lowered toward the ground.

 

“We need a medic!” a deep, male voice urgently called from the hatch.

 

The medical staff were already climbing from the parked speeders with their equipment, most running to the freighter, a couple moving toward the fighter.

 

The intel officers held back for now, watching.

 

“Major, please? I need you come with me!” His own intel watchdog had caught up with him.

 

Rhovan’s attention was fixed on the X-Wing pilot. It had only been a few days since he had seen Skywalker. The boy had been in poor condition then, battered, bruised and flat on his back on a medical stretcher. Now he was sitting in the cockpit of a fighter that he’d piloted across several light years.

 

Rhovan was reminded again of the strength the boy had shown during his captivity on Escaal, strength Rhovan would have previously thought impossible from one so young and slightly built. Rhovan had been impressed at the boy’s ability to withstand a stress position despite a back injury and blaster wound. His strength of will to fight against the drugs and electric charges from the interrogation droid, and his ability to claw back from the brink of collapse to face the Dark Lord himself, had stunned Rhovan.

 

Now, however, the pilot wasn’t moving. He remained still, head fallen forward, as the canopy opened and the ladder set against his ship. Rhovan walked forward watching as a technician climbed up to the cockpit and crouched down to touch the boy’s shoulder.

 

ooOOoo

 

He couldn’t move.

 

He had been wakened by Artoo as they approached the base and he had taken over the controls of the X-Wing once they had been given the landing coordinates. He hadn’t felt so bad, the last vestiges of the drug still working. He was a little refreshed, still sore, but able to focus on the landing.

 

Now they were down, though, now he was safe, he couldn’t move. His back had frozen: any movement sending sharp, lancing pain through his buttocks, down his legs. He dragged in a breath, closed his eyes as a ladder was set against the fuselage and a ground technician climbed up beside him.

 

“Sir? Lieutenant-Commander?”

 

Luke felt a hand on his shoulder and he raised his own hand and undid the strap of his helmet. The technician helped him draw it off.

 

“Sir, are you injured?”

 

 Luke heaved his head up to look at the stranger, knowing what he must look like. Bruised and bloodied, soot and dirt-streaked flight suit and the smell of fire and death. “I could use some help,” he told the man. “My back.”

 

“There are medics waiting for you, sir.”

 

Luke glanced down, saw the waiting personnel for the first time and stifled a groan. He didn’t want an audience, he...

 

He chilled, recognising a face in the growing crowd.

 

Dade.

 

A quiet, resolved anger grew within him. He didn’t want the interrogator to see him weakened, didn’t want Dade, or Rhovan, or whatever his real name was, to see him needing help. Tearing his eyes away from his tormentor he placed his hands on either side of the cockpit and pushed himself up. Pain flared and he bit back a cry. He chewed on the inside of cheek as he climbed, stiffly, from the fighter and gingerly made his way down the ladder, hoping that his legs would hold his weight when he reached the ground.

 

His feet had hardly touched the soil before a voice spoke to his side.

 

“Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker?”

 

Luke glanced up, saw soldiers wearing the insignia of the intelligence corps approaching him. Still holding onto the ladders for support, he tried to straighten up, wondering what they wanted and why the medics were hanging back.  The tech jumped down to join him on the tarmac.

 

One of the soldiers continued speaking. “You are under arrest on suspicion of conducting yourself in a manner prejudicial to good order and discipline.”

 

Luke’s hand tightened on the ladder. “What?” he managed, confused.

 

The man speaking produced a pair of binders. “I’m sorry, sir, I need you to turn around.”

 

Luke stared at the binders. He opened his mouth to warn the man that he could barely stand, let alone turn round, but his legs finally gave out and he would have fallen had the tech beside him not caught him. Pain flared again.

 

“Like hell, you’re arresting him!”

 

Luke was relieved to hear a familiar voice and he smiled as the arm of Red Squad’s chief technician encircled his waist, helping to hold him upright. “Thanks, Yizzi,” he murmured.

 

“Any time, Luke,” she assured him. She turned her wrath on the arresting officer. “You can’t slap a pair of cuffs on him. Do you know what he’s been through? He needs a med bed, not a holding cell.”

 

“Chief,” the officer warned, looking uneasy. “I don’t want to arrest you, too.”

 

The gathering around them was growing, more personnel arriving from Ra’imar, more of Adralii’s own staff taking an interest on what was unfolding on the tarmac.

 

Another orange flight suit broke through and Luke grinned despite the circumstances, relieved that Wedge Antilles had survived the evacuation. “Hey, Wedge.”

 

“Hey, Luke,” Antilles greeted easily. “Causing more trouble?”

 

“Follows me,” Luke joked, feeling a little better for the support, both moral and physical.

 

“Like a bad smell, Skywalker,” Wedge retorted, his arm also encircling Luke to hold him upright. He turned to regard the waiting soldiers, allowing his anger some reign. “The Lieutenant-Commander needs medical attention. We’ll let the medics through, but you stay where you are!”

 

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Antilles. This is on General Rieekan’s orders.” The man gestured to the soldiers behind him and they stepped forward lifting their blasters. He addressed himself to Luke, ignoring the chief and Wedge. “Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker, I insist that you step forward before this gets out of hand.”

 

 

ooOOoo

 

Rhovan had a feeling that Luke couldn’t step forward at this point even if he had wanted, too. His face was white, his hair plastered with sweat and he was leaning heavily on those around him. The pilot to his side, Wedge, the one whose name Luke gave during his interrogation, asked something Rhovan couldn’t hear and Luke nodded loosely and heaved in a breath. The boy glanced up and, once more, they made eye contact.

 

Rhovan recognised the look. He had seen it many times during Skywalker’s interrogation; that mix of desperation and hatred. He held the gaze until the boy faltered and turned away and Rhovan knew that Luke was recalling past events: just as he was.

 

“Let me through!” a sharp female voice demanded. “Where’s Luke?”

 

The crowd parted as a petite, dark haired woman stepped into the no-mans land between the opposing factions. She was clad in a plain khaki shirt and pants that were streaked with blood. Her hair was braided, but had loosened in places, freeing trailing strands to fall over her tired eyes.

 

Rhovan straightened, recognising the Princess Leia Organa.

 

“Your Highness,” the intel officer bowed his head and gestured to the group around the x-wing. “We have orders from General Rieekan for the Lieutenant-Commander’s arrest.”

 

“On what charge,” she demanded, her back immediately straightening with authority. She glanced at the agitated and angry group by the X-Wing.

 

“Conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline,” the man quoted. “He disobeyed a direct order and...”

 

“Wait here,” she scanned his uniform, “Captain.”

 

She turned around, stepping toward the gathered pilots and technicians.  “Step aside, Chief. Please.”

 

The woman shot the intel officer a foul look but bowed slightly to Leia and let her through. The princess immediately embraced Skywalker, closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest. The pilot folded his arms around her, held her tight.

 

ooOOoo

 

“Leia…” Luke murmured the Princess’ name as he rested his head against hers. He drew in a breath, smelling her shampoo beneath the odours of battle. “Leia...”

 

“What did you do, Luke?” she whispered, thrilled to see him again, to hold him close. Her friend, her confidant, was safe once more.

 

What to say? What to answer? So much had happened since he had last seen Leia weeks ago.

 

_I survived...._

 

Leia could feel him tremble, could sense the effort it took for him to remain on his feet, recalled that Luke had injured his back somehow on Escaal, that Han had reported him captured. She drew back slightly, took his hands and looked into his face and saw the full truth of what happened on Escaal and Ra’imar. Her hand went to his cheek, touched the fresh bruising that darkened the old. “I was told the Network got you out.”

 

Luke swallowed. “They did,” he answered, hoarsely.

 

“But not before you were taken...”

 

“Leia, I...” He drew her close once more, ignoring the screaming pain from his spine.

 

“I’m sorry...”

 

“Don’t be,” Luke told her, still aware of Dade watching. “It was me who crashed on Escaal, me who got caught and it was me who disobeyed Rieekan.”

 

Leia smiled against his flight suit. “You disobeyed Rieekan?”

 

“Yeah,” Luke breathed, feeling lighter, feeling better. “Bad move, huh?” He glanced over at the Falcon looking for Han. “Thecla?” he asked. “The sergeant?”

 

“She’s alive, but in a bad way. They were trying to stabilise her before moving her,” Leia explained, softly. Then warned, “ Luke,  the soldier with her is not your biggest fan. Han had Chewie sit on him during the journey back.”

 

“He has his reasons,” Luke confessed, the image of Chewbacca sitting on Haslam bringing a tight smile to his face. “I can’t blame him.”

 

Leia looked at him quizzically, wondering what he meant, what had happened not just on Escaal, but on Ra’imar. She glanced at the waiting soldiers. “So what do we do here, Luke?”

 

He closed his eyes, feeling exhausted, feeling the pain closing in, feeling resigned to everything. “Just... no cuffs. I’ll go, but no cuffs...”

 

The embrace ended when Luke’s legs gave out and he almost pulled the Princess down with him. Antilles caught him again and Organa turned, shouting, “Get the medics over here!”

 

She turned to the arresting officer, informing him, “You may place the Lieutenant-Commander under arrest, Captain, but he will be taken and confined to the medical facility until such times as I speak with the General.” She looked at the cuffs in the man’s hands with disgust. “You don’t need those,” she told him angrily and he quickly tucked them away.

 

The crowd around Luke moved back as the medics ran in with a gurney.

 

“Sir,” Rhovan felt a hand on his arm. “You really do have to come with me.” As he was lead away, the network operative caught sight of a Wookiee followed by a tall man pushing their way from the freighter towards the young pilot being helped onto the stretcher. Behind them an emergency medical capsule was rushed out of the ship, followed by a dirty and dishevelled infantryman.

 

ooOOoo

 

Rhovan felt like a pupil waiting to see the Head Teacher as he sat in a hallway outside an office door. He had been denied the wash and change he so badly needed and he was becoming worried about his body odour. He smiled: not that he had worried about that as a school boy. He sat forward, ran filthy hands over his face, knowing it was streaked with dirt and grime, too. He was exhausted not having slept much since Escaal and his escape from Vader.

 

 He’d had little time to get his bearings since arriving before finding himself sitting in this chair in this hallway outside of this door and being told that he needed to wait until she was free. He hadn’t even asked “until who was free?”

 

His eyes closed.

 

“She’ll see you now, Major.”

 

Rhovan jerked as the voice surprised him. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. “What?” he asked, dumbly, annoyed at himself for drifting off.

 

The young woman before him smiled. “She’s ready for you.” She gestured to the open door.

 

“Ready, right.” He stood, lifted his pack and walked through the door, intrigued.

 

“Major Rhovan, welcome to Ardalii.” The soft voice belonged to a woman who stood behind a desk in a sparsely furnished room. There was the desk and a couple of softer sofas, both of which had seen better days. The woman was dressed in a cream gown that rustled quietly as she moved out to greet him with an open palm.

 

Rhovan swallowed, found his voice and tried to hide his astonishment. “Senator Mothma, it’s a pleasure.”

 

“It is my pleasure, Major, to meet someone else from Chandrila,” she smiled gestured to one of the sofas. “I wish it was under different circumstances.”

 

Rovan sat despite being concerned at leaving a dirty mark on the soft cushion. “I’m not sure I understand, milady.”

 

“I have, of course, been made abreast of your background, Major. You have risked much in the name of freedom from inside the Empire itself. The Alliance came to rely on the information you provided and it is unfortunate that your cover on Escaal was blown.” She sat opposite him. “However, we are grateful that you managed to return Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker to us.”

 

She let the name hang between them.

 

Rhovan sat back, settling into the softness, suddenly understanding the topic of conversation and now knowing who had stopped his debrief on Ra’imar even if he didn’t know why. “You want to know about Skywalker,” he stated.

 

Mothma smiled. “No, I want you to know about Luke.”

 

She paused as though measuring him, as though she was still gathering information before making a decision. “You have shown great diligence in your fight against the Empire. I need that same attentiveness for your next assignment.” The decision seemed made.

 

“I’m not sure I understand, senator.”

 

“What I am going to tell you does not go beyond this room. I alone have this information, but I lack the skills required to act on it. I need someone with your skills to do what I cannot.”

 

He sat forward, intrigued. “And that is?”

 

“Watch Luke Skywalker.”

 

Rhovan’s eyes narrowed at the blunt statement. “You suspect him of something? I can assure you, Senator, that contrary to what he may have said himself, Luke did not...”

 

Mothma shook her head. “I do not doubt the boy’s courage, or his loyalty to the Alliance. However, I understand that he had an... encounter with Darth Vader on Escaal.”

 

“Yes, but...”

 

The ex-senator sat forward. She seemed concerned, afraid. “Did anything pass between them? Did you notice anything bizarre, anything at all that struck you as odd?”

 

How did she know? The Major hesitated, recalling the renewed strength that Luke called upon during his interrogation, the leniency that Vader showed toward the boy. The mention of Skywalker’s father.

 

“There was something, wasn’t there?” Mothma briefly closed her eyes, looking pained. “I was afraid of this. What was said?”

 

“It wasn’t so much what was said,“ Rhovan began, recalling events. “Luke was struggling. He had been shot during his arrest, had injured his back when he crashed on Escaal. He was beaten. I ordered electro...” He stopped, glanced at her looking for condemnation of his actions.

 

“I know what you are, Major. I know the things that you have had to do.” Her voice was calm, cool. “I need to know about Luke and Vader.”

 

He nodded, surprised at her acceptance of his actions when others, like Rieekan, struggled with them.  “He was struggling, breaking and utterly desperate. Until Vader arrived. Then he seemed to regain some strength. Vader seemed to hold back. It… seemed odd.”

 

“Was anything said?” she pressed, anxious.

 

Rhovan shrugged. “Luke accused Vader of betraying his father…” He was thinking aloud, remembering, “Vader made a comment, something along the lines of someone else betraying his father.” That was when Luke had spat at the dark Lord and Vader had retaliated violently. “Then he ordered the questioning to continue. Luke continued to fight, refused to answer questions until Vader cut him down and ordered his transfer to his ship. It was during the transfer that we both managed to escape.”

 

Mothma smiled, seemed to relax a little, seemed relieved.  “It would appear then that Luke does not yet know.”

 

Rhovan frowned. “Know what, senator?”

 

She hesitated, appeared to re-consider her previous decision and she looked at him, eyes narrowing. “I’m taking a risk with you, Rhovan.”

 

His interest was piqued. He was impatient now for her to tell him whatever it was she had to say. “I won’t fail you, mi’lady.”

 

She smiled at this, and spoke. “After Alderaan, after the Death Star, Luke Skywalker’s Artoo unit delivered a message. It seems the little droid had belonged to Bail Organa and served on the Princess Leia’s consular ship. It was the droid that had carried the Death Star plans.”

 

She paused, took a breath. “The message was from the Viceroy himself, to be delivered to me upon his death. He told me that the Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker had married in secret and that the Senator from Naboo, Padme Amidala, was his wife.”

 

“I remember her. Small and pretty.”

 

“Yes,” Mothma confirmed, sadness tingeing her words. “Padme was my friend and a strong voice in the senate against Palpatine’s increasing decrees for more executive powers. I knew she was taken by the young Knight. I remember her eyes lighting up whenever he walked in a room, but I never suspected a marriage, let alone a pregnancy. She hid it well. ”

 

“Her death was a tragedy,” Rhovan observed. “Was it not rumoured that the Jedi had killed her.”

 

“Yes,” Mothma confirmed, her voice sounding harsh for the first time. “In a way the Jedi did killed her. One Jedi. Her husband, Anakin Skywalker.”

 

“Her... I thought Jedi were...”

 

“Above such acts?” Mothma asked, sadly. “If only that were true, then we might not be fighting this war. After the purges, Bail rescued two Jedi Knights, Masters Kenobi and Yoda. They broke into the Jedi Temple and discovered a massacre, discovered that one of their own had committed grievous acts.”

 

“Skywalker?” Rhovan didn’t really have to ask.

 

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Anakin was no longer a Jedi Knight. He was now a Sith Lord and...” again there was hesitation. “…calling himself, Darth Vader.”

 

Rhovan felt thin fingertips of horror caress the back of his neck as he realised what Mon Mothma was telling him. “Darth Vader is Luke’s father!” It wasn’t a question. It was merely a verbal acknowledgement. “And Luke doesn’t know,” he concluded.

 

But Vader did, Rhovan was sure of it. That was why Skywalker was to be taken alive. That was why Vader wanted him transferred to his own ship. What kind of father would order that his son’s torture be continued?

 

 “Thankfully it seems that Luke remains ignorant of his background apart from the fact that Anakin was his father…  But, let me continue...”  Mothma requested. “As I said, Padme was pregnant. Kenobi brought her to Polus Massa after she was injured by Vader. She died giving birth to Vader’s children.”

 

The last word caught his attention. “Children?”

 

“Twins,” Mothma explained. “A boy and a girl. The Jedi thought it best the children be split up. They said both were strong with the Force and would be endangered if the Emperor and Vader discovered them. The Galaxy itself would be in even more peril if they joined their father and the Emperor. So, the boy was taken to Skywalker’s step-brother on Tatooine and Kenobi stayed to watch over him. The girl was adopted by Bail and his wife and raised as a member of the Royal household. She...”

 

“Leia Organa!” Rhovan was stunned, recalled the reunion he had witnessed at the landing zone.

 

Mothma nodded in acknowledgement. “Leia.”

 

“Neither of them know this?”

 

“No, although they have a close friendship, they do not know that they are brother and sister. We must keep it that way until the Jedi make contact with us.”

 

“What Jedi?” Rhovan’s mind was buzzing. Vader had children who were unaware of each other and of their parentage, and heritage. Force strong twins hidden among the Empire’s enemies. There were still Jedi in the Galaxy, possibly hiding and biding their time. It seemed incredible.

 

“Bail explained that Master Kenobi or Master Yoda would someday make contact with the twins and that they would be trained as Jedi Knights. They must be protected until that time, lest Vader and the Emperor discover them and claim them.”

 

Rhovan tore himself away from his own thoughts, caught up with Mothma’s statement. “And that almost happened on Escaal with Luke.”

 

“Vader must know who Luke is,” The ex-senator explained.  “After killing Kenobi on the Death Star and tracing the name of the pilot who destroyed the battle station, Vader couldn’t fail to realise the truth. He has never hidden his obsession with capturing the pilot who destroyed the Empire’s expensive toy. But with Kenobi gone and no word of Master Yoda I fear that Luke and Leia –Luke in particular – are vulnerable… Should Luke ever fall into his father’s hands...”

 

She fell silent.

 

“You think he might join Vader?” Rhovan filled the space, saying the words she seemed reluctant to utter.

 

She straightened, stood and crossed to the window that look out over the compound. The volcano beyond rumbled and a mild tremor rippled through the building. “I have been told the Dark Side of the Force can be very seductive even to those fully trained by the Jedi. Look at Dooku, look at Anakin Skywalker, and the harm they have reaped on the Galaxy.”

 

“What do you want me to do?” Rhovan also stood sensing that his time with Mon Mothma was ending.

 

“As I said, watch Luke. Watch Leia, too, but I believe the Princess is safe. I do not think Vader was aware that Padme was carrying twins. But watch Luke, watch his movements, his actions on missions and report only to myself.”

 

“And if his actions are suspicious?”

 

She turned around to face him. She looked pained, grieved. “Then you may have to kill him.”

 

ooOOoo

 

A warm breeze ruffled his hair and he leaned back, lifting his face to the sky and closing his eyes, allowing the light wind to brush against his skin. The heels of his boots tapped against the packing crate he was perched on. The personnel unloading the freighter bustled about him, throwing curious glances his way as they worked. He ignored them, enjoying the moment: the wind on his face, the sun on his skin, the view of the plumes of smoke and steam that trailed from the crater of the volcano.

He’d never seen a volcano before. Lying in the medical centre in protective custody, he had felt the tremors that rippled through the base and, when the wind had changed and blown across the compound into the open windows of his room in medical centre, he had smelled the sulphur. It was only now, though, two days after his release from medical care, that he had really had the chance to study the mountain and he realise how much he had truly been out of it when he had landed here. He couldn’t remember seeing the crater on his approach.

_Thank the Force for Artoo!_

Absently scratching at a still healing scab on his wrist he smiled at his thoughts. If it hadn’t been for Artoo, he would not be here now.

He would probably never know how the little droid had managed to survive Escaal and make his way back to the Rebellion on Ra’imar. Or how Artoo had then, somehow, managed to follow Wedge’s orders and not only keep the X-Wing intact during the bombardment of the Alliance base, but find his master and pick him up before bringing him here to safety.

Someday he hoped to meet the previous owner who had instilled such loyalty in the little machine.

A roar of engines caught his attention and he opened his eyes, looking round as the X-Wing squadron lifted from the platform and rose into the air, heading upward off world for their next patrol. He smiled, recognising Wedge’s ship taking the lead in place of Commander Narra who had another task to attend to today.

He wished he could be up there with his friends in the tight cockpit of the fighter; passing through the atmosphere into the darkness and quiet of space; pressed into his seat by the g-forces as he practiced a few manoeuvres; feeling the throb of the engines through his body as he flew true and free…

_“Bang out, Luke!”_

“Shit!” He cursed, annoyed at himself for allowing his thoughts to wander to the last mission he had flown, to Wedge’s pleas for him to eject from his stricken craft. He had heard that same plea repeated from the recesses of his mind during his interrogation: when his resolve had failed him; when his strength was waning and the temptation to talk, to tell them what they had wanted, had become overwhelming.

He almost had. He had almost spilled everything he knew, had wanted so badly to be free of the pain, to not be subjected to more shocks, more beatings, more drugs, to be lowered from that line and ease the weight on his dislocated shoulder.

_“Bang out...”_

Sitting up, he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to rub away the memories, trying to...

The comlink in his pocket buzzed against his leg. He ignored it until it went silent, then he reached in and switched it off.

“That’s just gonna piss them off more, kid.”

Luke grinned at the voice, shifted over on the packing crate, making space for his friend to sit down. “Hey, Han,” he greeted, softly.

“So,” Solo made himself comfortable and surveyed the scenery that Luke appeared to find so interesting, “Shouldn’t you be somewhere?” Solo immediately regretted his quip as Luke physically flinched at the reminder.

“Did they send you?” Luke sounded tired, sounded like this was not a conversation he wanted to have.

“Nope,” Han kept his voice as light as possible. “I came looking for you myself. Wanted to find you before the goons… Wanted to stop you from doing something stupid.”

Luke smiled, wryly. “Too late.”

They sat in silence watching the peak of the mountain belch smoke.

“So how did you break out?” Han wanted to know.

 “The fresher window,” Luke told him, with a smile. Still in protective custody, he had been transferred from the medical centre into spartan quarters with bored guards stationed outside the door: keeping him in and vetting his visitors.

Han chuckled. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I have a feeling they hadn’t read it,” Luke told him, knowing they were making small talk, skirting around the real issue. He chewed on a ragged nail. “Did Leia send you?”

“Busted,” Solo admitted. “Her royalness didn’t want you to get into any more trouble.”

“Too late,” Luke replied again. There was no smile this time and he looked away to the horizon, avoiding his thoughts.

“Luke,” Solo began seriously. “I know you don’t want do this, I know it’s gonna be hard, but once it’s done, it’s done. You know? It’s not a court martial...”

“Yet...” Luke injected.

Solo ignored him. “It’s a debriefing, it’s...”

“Questions...” Luke finished for him, his voice thickening with suppressed emotions. “More questions about what happened.”

Solo didn’t know how to reply to this: it was the truth. Luke had had his fill of questions, had suffered badly at the hands of the Empire and Han was worried for his young friend.

The Corellian spacer had seen harder men crumble at just the threat of Imperial detention and he found himself marvelling at the inner strength Luke had to possess to have come through such an experience… although he hadn’t come through it unscathed.

Making a mental note to thank the man who had got his young friend out, Han remained silent. The clouds scudding across the blue of the sky, the men and woman on the landing zone went about their business of unloading the freighter. Luke and Han looked out across the smoking mountain, simply enjoying each other’s company and the support that comes from camaraderie… delaying the inevitable by simply ignoring it.

Movement from behind drew Solo’s attention and he glanced back, groaning inwardly as he caught sight of two waiting soldiers, recognising them as the guards who had been posted outside of Luke’s door. They did not look happy; Luke had been due at his debriefing over an hour ago and they had been charged with making sure the pilot arrived on time.

“Luke...” he warned, nodding at the men to acknowledge that he had seen them. They reluctantly held back, recognising what Han was doing.

“I know they’re there,” Skywalker told him as he still stared at the spewing smoke. There was something strangely hypnotic about the billowing fumes. How hard could it be to answer a few questions? They ask and he answers. Simple.

_“With which squadron do you fly?”_

_“Did you meet Dade? Did you have contact with any other operatives?”_

_“What squadron do you fly with?”_

_“Tell us about Wedge...”_

He closed his eyes, finding himself thrown back to that cell on Escaal, hanging from the ceiling, feeling his blood run warmly down his skin, hearing the droid hovering close by as Dade/Rhovan and the other Imperial threw questions at him.

Expecting answers.

Just as the waiting panel would expect answers.

“Luke.”

Solo’s voice broke through the scene, brought him back. He glanced at his friend, grateful for his presence. Knowing he had little choice. He had to do this, the same as he had to withstand the interrogation on Escaal. “Will you come with me?” He sounded like a child, a child who was terribly afraid and he hated the sound of his voice.

“Sure, kid,” Han assured him, nodding. “They may not have read the book, but I sure don’t want them to throw it at you.” He stood and put his hand out to the younger man who took it. Han pulled him to his feet watching as Luke winced as his back straightened. “Still sore?”

“Stiff,” Luke told him. “If I sit too long.” He took a step forward, grimaced again as pain shot through his back, his leg. He placed a hand to the small of his back to brace it.

“Probably shouldn’t have climbed through that window,” Han told him as they began to walk, Luke’s limp easing a little as he moved.

“It wasn’t the climb through,” Skywalker admitted, beginning to smile again. “It was the fall on the other side.”

Solo chuckled as they walked, Luke’s guards quietly falling in behind them as they moved through the base to the headquarters compound.

 

ooOOoo

 Heaving in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, to slow his hammering heart, Luke glanced at Han as the door before him opened. He swallowed, thickly.

“I’ll be waiting right out here,” Solo assured him.

Skywalker could only nod, couldn’t speak as his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He had no idea what awaited him in that room, didn’t know who would be there and wasn’t sure how much trouble he was actually in. This should have been a standard debriefing, this should have been just about Escaal and what had happened leading up to him being shot down and the subsequent events, but it had become so much more. They would be scrutinising him now, analysing everything he said; a base had been compromised and he had admitted to disclosing its location, he had disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer, had tried to persuade others to do likewise and he had failed to attend this meeting on time.

A nest of Gundarks would be more appealing than this room.

He stepped forward and the door closed behind him. Before him was a long table, empty apart from three data pads, a jug of water and some glasses and a holo-recorder. Behind the table sat three Alliance officers he did not recognise. Before it sat two chairs, one empty – waiting for him – and in the other sat a man he did not know.

Sitting along the back wall was Commander Narra, present as his Commanding Officer and as the officer who had conducted the initial, albeit incomplete, de-brief on Ra’imar. Sitting beside him, dressed in the Alliance uniform of a Major in the Intelligence Corps, was Erwin Rhovan.

Luke couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his eyes from the man who had tortured him, couldn’t believe he was to sit in the same room as...

“Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker,” The woman at the centre of the table spoke softly, but firmly. “Please take your seat. This meeting has been delayed long enough.”

Anger twisted through him, he felt his cheeks burn with the heat of humiliation and he tore his eyes away from Rhovan, looked up at the ceiling, studied it’s bland, corrugated duracreet.

“Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker,” the woman spoke again, a little more sharply. “I have asked you to sit down.”

Luke pulled his attention away from the ceiling. “Sorry, ma’am,” he responded dryly. “I was checking for chains.”

Major Ehlen Anders suppressed a smile at the young man’s pointed comment admiring his courage. She flashed a glance to Rhovan as the pilot limped forward and lowered himself into the empty chair. Rhovan, unmoved by the biting words, coolly held her gaze for a moment. He loosely shook his head and she nodded briefly, acknowledging his direction to leave Skywalker’s statement unrecognised. She did not particularly like the new addition to her staff, did not like that he was allowed to sit in on these proceedings, and definitely didn’t like that she was to defer to him when it came this particular Alliance officer.

She waited silently while Skywalker closed his eyes for a brief moment then opened them to calmly regard her. So, this was the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, the rumoured Jedi-in-training, the son of Anakin Skywalker the Hero of the Clone Wars and the reason they had been gathered together in this small room and left waiting for more than an hour. If she didn’t already know what this young man had been through she might have had him arrested and reconvened the de-briefing the following day while he spent a night in lock-up thinking about his actions. However, she had sympathy for the boy, understood how difficult the next few hours would be for him. She cleared her throat, activated the small holo-recorder on the table before her and addressed the pilot.

“Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker, I am Major Ehlen Anders. To my right is Major Derlin and to my left is Captain S’adaan,” she gestured to the Sullustan. “Your appointed counsel is Captain Chemro and...”

Luke shifted on his chair, glanced at the man beside him and cleared his throat. “I was not aware I needed counsel for a debriefing, ma’am.”

“This is not just a simple debriefing. Given the nature of the events since Escaal and the allegations of misconduct laid against you, it was believed prudent that you have legal counsel during questioning as the information you provide may result in disciplinary charges being formally laid against you. You may choose to continue without representation of course, that is your right.”

Luke could feel Rhovan watching him from the back of the room. “Is it my right to ask that the man sitting behind me may be removed before we continue?”

Anders could understand this request. No-one should be forced to be in the same room as the man who had so brutally tortured him. “I’m afraid not,” she told him, suppressing her compassion for the pilot, her anger at the change in protocol that allowed Rhovan’s presence. It had come from Mon Mothma herself with no explanation.  “Major Rhovan’s presence has been ordered by High Command. He is here to corroborate, or refute, your recollections of the events on Escaal as Commander Narra is also here to do likewise for the events on Ra’imar before and during your initial debriefing.”

Luke pushed his chair away, shakily stood. “Then I refuse to continue with this meeting.”

His counsel also stood, placed a hand on his arm. “Luke...”

Luke shrugged him off, glared at him. He didn’t know this man, what gave him the right to address him by his first name? “Who do you...?” He started but was cut off by Major Anders.

She stood, her patience finally frayed. “Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker, if you will not willingly take part in these proceedings then I have no choice but to place you under arrest and caution you that you do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be noted down and given in evidence. You...”

Luke turned to see Rhovan also standing watching him, Narra gesturing at him to sit back down. The door opened and the two soldiers who had trailed behind himself and Solo entered. He caught sight of the Corellian in the hallway looking concerned before the door slammed shut. He wilted, sat back down, feeling like a tree-myre caught in landing lights. “Okay...” was all he could say. “Okay...”

Ehlen also returned to her seat as the two soldiers positioned themselves either side of the doorway. She had understanding for the pilot, could empathise with his feelings, but she also had a duty to perform and empathy could not get in the way. “... have the right to counsel,” she continued. “If you do not have counsel then one will be provided for you.” She paused, letting her words sink in, watching as the young man before her slumped in his seat and glanced at Chemro beside him. “This fact-finding debriefing of Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker will continue under the terms of the Alliance Military Procedures Act and he shall remain in custody for the duration of this meeting. Any further disruption, or misconduct, by Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker will result in the meeting being terminated and he shall be charged with the obstruction of an enquiry and he will be held pending further investigation. Am I clear?”

Luke nodded, defeated and deflated. “Yes.”

“Do you wish counsel?”

He didn’t glance at the officer sitting next to him. “Yes.”

“Then we shall continue. Major Derlin, if you will.” She sat back as Derlin lifted a data pad, read for a few seconds and then lifted his eyes to Luke.

“Lieutenant-Commander, we have already spoken to the other available witnesses to the events that we are about to discuss. Bearing that in mind, can you please tell us what happened when Commander Narra gave the order to break contact with the Imperial fighters above Escaal?”

Luke wiped a sweaty palm on his fatigues. “Lieutenant Antilles and I were cut off from the main flight. We had ...”

“You were both cut off?” Derlin asked.

“I...uh...” Luke tried to think back. There had been two TIEs, then another five heading his way. A Star Destroyer. “Wedge, he tried to get to me, but my ship was hit and...”

“So, only you were cut off from the flight?”

“No... No, Wedge was...” An image of Wedge’s X-Wing cutting a path through the TIEs to get to him. “Yes, yes, I think I was. Wedge tried to clear the area. I took a hit, lost a foil. I...”

“You chose to go planet side rather than eject. Why was that?” Captain S’adaan wanted to know. The Sullustan’s voice was clipped, stern.

“They would have picked me up. I stood a better chance of escape on the surface.”

“And did you escape?” S’adaan threw.

Luke shrugged, annoyed at the attitude of the Captain, confused by the animosity he felt from the being. “No, I was picked up almost immediately.”

“Why was that?”

“There was fire and an oxygen leak, I ejected. A TIE had my location. To speed up my descent I released my main chute and freefell before deploying my reserve chute. I hit the ground harder than I had anticipated. I blacked out. When I came too, I...

ooOOoo

Rhovan listened silently as the questioning continued watching as Luke quietly answered everything thrown his way, fighting the urge to throw in a few questions of his own when the topic turned to the Network. He was surprised at the surge of loss, of bereavement, he felt when Luke told of Taln and Isla.

If truth be told he missed his friends.

But he not here to reminisce, he was here to observe and get to know this young man. He was now tasked with deciding how much of a threat to the Alliance Luke actually was, or could become – especially if he was ever to discover who his father was.

Rhovan leaned forward, trying to hear as Luke’s voice dropped to almost a whisper and Anders instructed him to speak up. The boy was telling them of his capture, of his and Taln’s failed attempt at escaping. Rhovan had wondered what had happened and why Taln had been unable to follow through on his order to kill Luke. It seems his friend had hesitated, had then been interrupted by Stormtroopers as they had searched the tunnels. Rhovan couldn’t help but wonder if his friend would have faltered had he known that Luke was Darth Vader’s offspring.

ooOOoo

“I can’t remember,” Luke repeated, tightly. He was tired, exhausted and his back had stiffened up from sitting so long. This had been going on for hours now. He brushed a hand through his hair, looked to the ceiling as another mild tremor rippled through the building. At that moment a full blown quake would be a welcome distraction.

“This is important, Lieutenant-Commander,” Derlin pushed. “Did you answer any of Major’s Rhovan’s questions about the Alliance?”

“I told you, I... don’t... I can’t remember. I was.... it was difficult.” He was becoming agitated, angry.

“We understand that it was a difficult situation, but we need to know,” Derlin insisted. “When the questioning turned from the Network and to the Alliance, what did you tell them?”

_A Voice from far away, heard through rasping breathing, heard above grunting and moans of pain. A voice that had cut through his agony and torn his gaze from the blood and sweat that was dripping onto the floor._

_“Perhaps, if he is reluctant to tell us of the Resistance he will be more willing to discuss his Rebel Alliance.”_

Luke closed his eyes, desperately trying to avoid the memories, the surging panic he had felt, the doubts on his ability to withstand much more. He swallowed, reached for a glass of water that had been placed on the table, then he clenched his fist, horrified at how badly his hand was shaking.

“What did you tell them, Luke?”           

_Luke._ That’s what Rhovan had done, too. He had used his first name, brought the questions to a personal level, tried to play him with the pretence of friendship.

_“Stop this, Luke. Stop fighting me. Give me something I can work with and I’ll let you down. You can rest.”_

“Luke, please answer the question.”

Luke pressed his fingers against his brow. What did he tell them? What did he say? Between the pleas and the screams had he actually said anything?

“Luke,” Derlin pressed, leaning over the table.

“Have you ever been shot and then beaten?” Luke barked, perilously close to losing his temper. “Have you ever been strung up by the wrists and slapped and punched? Electrocuted? How can you say you understand?”

 “Please, just answer the Major’s question.” Major Anders prompted, softly, choosing to ignore, for now, the fact that Luke had been disrespectful to a superior officer. To remind him, might just push the young man one step too far at this point. “Did you tell Rhovan anything about the Alliance?”

Luke gestured behind him, to the man sitting silently behind him, watching. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“We already have,” Captain S’adaan informed him, tightly. “Now we are asking you. Did you tell him anything?”

Tell.

Told.

_Told about home..._

_You told..._

_You told about home..._

_Tatooine..._

“No,” Luke rasped. “I didn’t tell them a thing.”

“You’re certain?”

Was he certain? Was he sure?

“I gave them my name. I gave my rank and number. I told them...”

_“Bang out, Luke.”_

Wedge.

“I...I gave them Wedge,” he admitted wearily, ashamed of his momentary lapse, when the drugs had meandered through his veins, when the pain had become too much and his mind played tricks.

Derlin leaned forward placed his elbows on the table. “What do you mean?”

“I said his name,” Luke said quickly, like a child trying to explain a misdemeanour. “His first name, that’s all.” He looked at the panel, searching for signs of condemnation, of disapproval, but the gazes that met his eyes were bland, inexpressive, and professional.

“You didn’t give them the location of Ra’imar?” Major Ander asked.

“No.” He could only manage a whisper. Now they would zero in on Ra’imar. Now they would want to know how he knew the base was about to be attacked, if he hadn’t already compromised it.

Ehlen glanced to Rhovan, who nodded, acknowledging that Luke had been truthful.

Luke caught the glance, grimaced as anger churned within, as his stomached flipped and his heart raced. It looked like she was getting her cues from the man who had brutalised him.

  “Let’s move on, shall we,” she announced, sticking to the agreed line of questioning, ignoring the glaring gap between what Luke was saying now and what he had confessed on Ra’imar. “When did you become aware of Darth Vader’s presence?”

The question threw Luke. This wasn’t what he had expected next, hadn’t anticipated that they would want to know about Vader.

_“We will speak at length, young one...”_

The threat of more torture, hidden in innocuous words, announced while the black gloved hand had cradled his chin and forced him to look up into the black mask, to see himself, what he had been reduced too, reflected in the eye lenses of his father’s killer.

That was, perhaps, the worse moment, far worse than waking up to find himself still suspended from the ceiling and the obsidian mask mere centimetres from his own face.

“Lieutenant-Commander,” Anders called to him, breaking into his thoughts. She glanced down at the data pad, looking at the questions that had been drafted by Rhovan and wondering what purpose they served, especially when Rhovan had been in the cell along with them at the time. “When did you first become aware of Darth Vader’s presence?”

ooOOoo

Rhovan sat forward, feet planted on the ground, elbows resting on his knees. This was the part of the interview he had been waiting on and he had crafted the questions in an attempt to draw the pilot on just what the Dark Lord of the Sith meant to him. Even sitting behind Luke, and watching his back he could tell he had shaken the boy.

Anders repeated the question. Luke’s back stiffened, straightened and he lifted his hands to rub at his forehead. The boy was under immense stress and it was beginning to wear him down. The pilot scoffed, laughed tightly, sounded a little hysterical when he answered sarcastically. “When I was hanging, naked, from a ceiling by my wrists. When I was so pumped full of drugs that no matter what they did to me, I couldn’t pass out. When I was dripping blood onto the floor...” The words were fuelled by rage, fed by exhaustion and trauma.

Rhovan watched as Chemro, Luke’s counsel, placed a hand on his arm to quiet him, Luke threw him off once more, but the Captain insisted and addressed the panel. “The Lieutenant-Commander is exhausted, perhaps if we could have a recess.” He suggested.

Luke shook his head. “No... no I just want to get this over with.” He sounded weary, bleak. He had sounded like that on Escaal, too.

Rhovan caught Ander’s eyes, shook his head. To stop now would lose the momentum; break the pressure on the pilot. They needed to continue now. He ignored the spark of anger that flared in the Intel Officer’s eyes and had to suppress his own when she spoke to Skywalker. “We could have a break for twenty-minutes, if you wished, Luke.”

Rhovan had to stop himself from speaking, had to stop himself from taking to his feet and interrupting.  He felt Skywalker’s commanding officer look his way, but he refused to look anywhere, but at Luke’s back. The pilot’s head hung low for a moment, then he lifted it, turned around and looked directly at Rhovan as he answered, calmly. “It’s okay, I want to go on.”

He bit back a smile as the pilot turned away. He knew what Luke thought he was doing. The boy was struggling, was determined not to give him any advantage, but keep it as his own. What Luke didn’t realise was that by calling on his reserves of strength now, he was leaving himself limited for later on. He had done the same on Escaal; had worked to show as little weakness as possible, had used all his reserves and would have broken...

_...had broken..._

... had Rhovan himself not chosen to stop and allow him relief, and then Vader had come and Luke’s strength was renewed.

Anders nodded her assent. “Then, please, when did you first become aware of Darth Vader’s presence?”

Luke shifted on his chair, pressed a hand to his back, rubbed at his thigh. “I... had blacked out. When I came too,” he swallowed. “When they woke me up, he was there.”

“Did Vader say anything to you?”

Luke was quiet for a moment. “He said something about my fear, something about...” He cleared his throat. “My...my anger and hatred keeping me going.”

Anders consulted the data pad. “What do you think he meant by that?”

Luke shook his head. “I’m not sure, but he... he seemed to make sense.”

Rhovan saw the Sullustan tense. “In what way?”

Intrigued by Luke’s answer, Rhovan leaned further forward, suppressing the desire to take over the questioning.

“I was... giving up,” he cleared his throat again, sounded nervous as he admitted his weakness. “I was scared, frightened of what was happening. The pain was.... the pain...” he heaved in a breath, seemed to struggle to keep calm then continued. “I was afraid and then, when... when he said that, I wasn’t frightened any more. I was angry, really angry and I...” another pause and Rhovan could almost sense the boy searching for the right words to use. “I focused my... hatred onto him and I felt stronger.”

Rhovan smiled, this was what he had wanted to know; what had it been that had picked Luke up from the depths of despair and made him able to stand up to the Dark Lord of the Sith. Now he knew it had been Vader himself, it had been the father giving advice to the son, albeit in a guarded and a surreptitious way. Rhovan had no doubt that Vader knew who Luke was. The question was; did Luke have any knowledge, or inkling about Vader?

Rhovan knew that to understand how a change in feelings could have such a profound effect he would have to know more about the Jedi. He would have to learn more about the Force.

Anders was speaking again. “Did you say anything to Vader?”

Luke lifted his head; this time his voice sounded stronger, more sure. “I told him I wouldn’t betray the Alliance as he betrayed my father.”

“Can you explain to us about your father, Luke? Can you explain what Darth Vader has to do with your father?”

Rhovan watched carefully, watching for signs of deception.

“My father was Anakin Skywalker, a Jedi Knight. He was betrayed and murdered by Darth Vader.”

Luke sounded sure, convincing.

“What proof do you have for these claims, Lieutenant-Commander?” The Sullustan wanted to know.

“Proof?” He seemed bewildered; a tone of anger underscored his words. “They’re not claims. I was told this by Obi-Wan Kenobi, my father’s friend. He gave me my father’s lightsaber, taught me a little of the Force before Vader killed him, too.”

“That is not proof.”

Chemro finally joined the conversation. “I fail to understand how Luke’s parentage has a bearing on this debriefing.”

“We are merely trying to understand Luke’s position,” Derlin explained, “put what happened on Escaal and on Ra’imar into context.” He gestured to Luke. “Please answer the question.”

Luke shifted on the chair once more. “I have no physical proof anymore,” he admitted. “Rhovan had my lightsaber on Escaal.”

Rhovan nodded as all heads, bar Luke’s, turned his way. He did have Luke’s lightsaber on Escaal; he still had Luke’s lightsaber in the bag that he had carried from Escaal to Ra’imar and to here.

“How did Vader respond to your statement?” Derlin asked.

“He told me that it wasn’t him who betrayed my father.”

“What did you take from that?” Captain S’adaan questioned.

“I knew... I thought he meant it had been Obi-Wan. He was implying that it had been Obi-Wan who had betrayed my father.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

“No, I... No, I mean he was trying to confuse me, play me. I didn’t let him.”

“What did you do?” Anders enquired.

“I spat at him.”

Anders remained silent.

“He hit me,” his hand went to his cheek. “He hit me hard. Then... I... I heard Dade, I mean Rhovan, saying something about me and Vader told him to continue the... interrogation.”

Rhovan remembered the quiet breath of disbelief the boy had uttered, remembered the spit and hum of the lightsaber blade as Vader severed the line from which Luke hung and ordered the boy’s transfer to his ship. Rhovan had thought all was lost, thought he’d be stuck onboard Vader’s ship with a prisoner who knew he was not what he pretended to be. He had killed the detention centre guards, had contemplated killing Luke, but like Taln he had hesitated.

There was still something about this youth, something compelling and intriguing. More so now that he knew who the boy’s father was.

ooOOoo

It was done. His torment and torture on Escaal had been discussed, analysed and explored. He should have felt some relief, should have felt that the worst was over, but still the panel sat. The hours dragged by, timed only by the questions asked, the build up of heat in the windowless room and the water jug being emptied and replenished.  Yet still they sat. His back was killing him, his legs were going numb and his head throbbed wearily. Any more of this and he’d end up back in the med centre.

“Let us move on now, shall we?”

The woman was speaking again and Luke brought his eyes back up to look at the panel before him.

“Lieutenant-Commander we are now about to look at your actions during the evacuation of Ra’imar. You need to bear in mind that you remain in custody and under caution as what you say now may provide evidence at a future court martial. Do you understand?”

Cool anxiety settled in the base of his stomach. “Yes,” he answered dryly.

And the questions began again, and again he answered. Why did he believe the base was in danger? How did he know that the Empire had discovered them when he hadn’t given the base during his interrogation?

“The Force,” he stated. “I can sometimes sense things. I just felt...” he trailed off. He’d felt the Dark Lord near. It had felt as though he had been in the same room as Vader. He looked at the panel, for some reason not wanting to share that piece of information.“I knew, that’s all. I just knew.”

How did he know? How did he know it was the Force warning him? On what experience did he base that belief on? Was this something Obi-Wan Kenobi had taught him? Why did he lie and say he had given the base location.

“I wasn’t being believed,” he felt the same frustration, the same helplessness. “I thought if I said I had told that they would believe me. We needed to get out of there.”

 Why, when General Rieekan ordered him to the medical evacuation ship, did he feel it necessary to try and persuade his escorts to disobey? Had he intended on leaving the troopers on the planet while he flew to safety in an X-Wing? What were the consequences of his actions? Had he actually achieve anything?

“So, when you saw that there were no X-Wings, you split up from the infantry troopers. Why was that?” Derlin wanted to know.

“I wanted to give them a chance to get away. To hide. It was... it was my fault they were there, I accepted that.”

“What did you plan to do?” Anders lifted a glass of water, took a sip.

Luke shrugged. He was tired, but at last he was sensing an end to the debriefing. “I’m the pilot who destroyed the Death Star. I’m the son of Anakin Skywalker. Vader was there for me.”

“That’s rather arrogant, is it not, Mr Skywalker?” The Sullustan broke in. “To assume that the Dark Lord of the Sith was only there for one person? That he would raze an entire Alliance base and kill hundreds for just one person?”

“It may sound arrogant,” Luke readily admitted. “But it’s the truth.”

He felt it.

_“We will speak at length, young one.”_

“So, you were willing to return to Imperial captivity to allow the others to escape?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a very noble act, considering what you had previously endured.”

“It was the right thing to do?”

“The right thing to do, after so many wrongs.” S’adaan stated. He looked down at his data pad, reading, before glancing back up. “I put it to you, Mr Skywalker, that your actions could be seen as being suspect. I put it to you, Jedi, that you were in fact returning to the one being in the Galaxy who could teach you more about this Force of yours. That you were, in fact, defecting to the Empire. Is that not the truth?”

The room erupted around him. He could hear Narra shouting that such a suggestion was preposterous. Rhovan was also on his feet telling Narra to sit down. His counsel was protesting loudly that such charges had not previously been discussed with him. Major Anders was calling for order. But his mind buzzed with white noise, with the static of panic. He could hear, but his comprehension was compromised and a solid mass of consternation blocked his throat.

They couldn’t possibly think he had been trying to defect. They couldn’t possibly believe he’d willing go to Vader...

_...didn’t you?..._

...They couldn’t believe he would turn against everything he now held dear and...

“Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker!”

“What?.... What?” He was bewildered, horrified at this turn of events. He needed clarity, someone to tell him what was happening.

“Answer the Captain, please.” Derlin pressed.

“You don’t have to say anything, Luke,” Chemro advised him. “You can have a recess so we can discuss this.”

Recess. Discuss.

_“We will speak at length...”_

“No,” Luke found his voice. He took a breath, tried find some calm, aware all the while of Rhovan at his back. He looked to the Sullustan as he swallowed his horror and anger at the suggestions. “No,” he repeated. “I was not defecting. I would never... Never.”

“And yet you were willingly walking toward the Imperial lines.”

Luke nodded, speaking earnestly. “Yes, but to buy time for Thecla and Haslam to get clear. Not for... not for... any other reason.”

“What did you think Vader would do?”

Luke swallowed. He really didn’t want to consider that. He closed his eyes...

_...lying in a mud puddle in the middle of the roadway, held down by the knees of stormtroopers as they hauled his arms behind his back and fastened them with tight cuffs. He was pulled upward, crying out at the shooting pains along his spine and his legs gave way unable to sustain his weight. They dragged him forward to the waiting Dark Lord, stopped before their master and held him upright as he fought to gain his own purchase on the ground._

_Sensing movement he glanced up and reeled as Vader viciously backhanded him across the face. Lights danced in darkness as his jaw was taken by the same hand and he was forced to face his father’s murderer once more._

_“There will be no escape this time, Skywalker.”_

_He was dragged forward, up the ramp of the waiting shuttle and dumped unceremoniously on the floor and..._

“Luke?”

Luke opened his eyes. Ehlen Anders leaned across the table a frown crossing her brow as she regarded him with some concern. He rubbed his jaw, glanced at both Derlin and S’adaan, while he tried to figure out what had just happened. It had seemed so real, he had been back on Ra’imar only this time he had been taken. “I.... I think I would have been interrogated and executed. The same as any other Alliance personnel.” He looked to the Sullustan. “I made mistakes, Captain, I admit to that. But I am not a traitor to the Alliance.”

“Thank you, Luke,” Major Anders acknowledged. “You and your counsel may now step out while we consider the evidence you have submitted. We will recall you should we need clarification, and to explain what action, if any, will be taken against you.”

 

ooOOoo

Rhovan remained seated while Luke stiffly rose and limped from the room with his counsel. Then he smiled at Anders. “What do you think?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off an impending headache. “He’s been through a lot, as you should know, Major,” she told him pointedly.

“Conceded,” Rhovan dropped into the chair Luke had vacated as Narra joined them at the table.

“Luke is talented pilot, with natural instincts.” The commander stated. “He possesses leadership skills and qualities that...”

“He’s thoughtless and rash,” Sa’adaan offered with a smile. “His actions on Ra’imar could have had serious consequences. He disobeyed a direct order and, as much as I regret it, for that there should be a penalty. He may be one of the most valuable officers we have, but we cannot over look that fact.”

“He was traumatised by his experiences on Escaal,” Anders argued, gently. “That would have had an impact on his choices and decisions.”

“But does he pose a danger to the Alliance?” Rhovan wanted to know. “Does Vader’s interest in him threaten the Alliance?”

Derlin frowned. “What are you saying?” He lifted his data pad and shook it in Rhovan’s direction. “Your scripted questions and suggestions that were weighted toward Vader, are you suggesting that we should be concerned about Luke?”

“No,” Rhovan denied. “My questions were designed to get Luke to think about Vader, to rattle him a little. He needs to see how others may view him considering his gifts. At the moment he’s a loose cannon.” And he was hiding something; Luke’s body language had changed when he was asked how he knew the base was about to be attacked.

“Do you think we should cut him loose?” Derlin wanted to know. “If Vader is so obsessed with the boy, perhaps we let him go?”

“We would only be handing him to Vader if we did that.” Rhovan countered, but Derlin had taken his bait.

“Then Luke would be dead,” Narra stated, shaking his head, stunned at the turn of the conversation. “I can’t believe we’re discussing this. Why are we discussing this? This was a fact finding debriefing and it’s turning into something else. Luke is one of the most honest and trustworthy people I know. I owe him my life two or three times over.”

Rhovan shook his head. “Relax, Commander, I’m only thinking aloud. Vader’s interest in Skywalker is intriguing considering he is the man who allegedly murdered Luke’s father.” He wanted to add that Vader didn’t want Luke dead, but he’d planted enough doubts about the boy for now. They would be on their guard, alert to Luke’s actions, just as he had intended. He needed them to be suspicious and aware.

“Vader has killed many fathers,” S’abaan stated, bluntly. “Luke is the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, that alone sets him apart from us and makes him the greater target.”

“And then there is the Force.” Rhovan pointed out.

“Gentlemen, please,” Ehlen interrupted.  “We’re getting off the subject here. This has been a long day for Luke and for ourselves. I would very much like to get something eat and possibly a very stiff drink.” She looked to Rhovan. “The decisions were taken before this meeting, anyway.” Anders pointed out. “Haven’t they, Major Rhovan?”

Rhovan smiled, nodded in concession. “Apparently General Rieekan has cooled considerably and now views Luke actions in a different light.”

Narra looked stunned. “You’ve already decided? You’ve put Luke through all this and the decisions have already been taken?”

“What would you rather happen, Commander?” Rhovan wanted to know. “Do you want a formal hearing and formal charges for your flight second?”

“No, of course not, but...

“Then let’s get this over with.” Ehlen interrupted with some finality. She really did want that drink and a painkiller for her growing headache.

ooOOoo

This time there were no chairs when Luke entered the room. He stood alone before the table to hear his fate; his counsel relegated to the back of the room with Narra and Rhovan.

The Major at the centre of the table was business like, stern, as she spoke. “We have heard from all the witnesses and we have heard from you. We have come to a decision on the action that the events merit.

“Stand to attention.”

Luke pulled himself as straight as he could, looked ahead as the Major read from the data pad.

“Lieutenant-commander Skywalker. As to the events on Escaal, we find your actions appropriate to the circumstances. You followed Alliance directions of resistance to the letter and have concluded that at no time did you compromise Alliance Military operations. Indeed we find that your conduct under duress to be remarkable and you have been cited for commendation.

“However,” She continued, glancing down at the data pad. “We have also had to consider your actions on Ra’imar. You have admitted that you disobeyed a direct order from General Rieekan and that you persuaded two infantry troopers to do likewise in an ill-advised attempt to assist with the evacuation. However courageous that attempt was, it was also foolhardy, reckless and resulted in severe injury to Sergeant Thecla D’amalan.

“Should this go to court martial you would most certainly be found guilty of conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline. However, in light of the medical report we have also received, it is our conclusion that you were suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder from your experiences on Escaal and were not fully in command of your own actions.

“Therefore, due to these mitigating circumstances, it has been decided to deal with your conduct on a more informal basis now. However, should you wish a full court martial, that is your right.” She paused looked up at him. “Do you wish me to continue, or do you wish the right to court martial?”

Luke worked his jaw, worked conflicting feelings. He was relieved that this was coming to an end and that he didn’t need to face court martial, angry that they had viewed him as impaired. “Please continue, ma’am.”

 “Very well, Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker. You will receive a written reprimand on your permanent record. Any repeat of the offense will result in a full formal hearing under military law. Conditionally you will attend the medical centre so that your physical and psychological health can continue to be assessed, any missed appointments, or late comings, will be reported to the disciplinary board. Until you have been passed as flight fit you will remain planet side and be issued light duties. I remind you, and order you, that everything that has been discussed today is classified and should not be repeated out with this room. You are hereby released from custody.

“Report to Commander Narra at oh six thirty to receive your orders. You are dismissed.”

Luke turned on his heel and walked from the room, deliberately keeping his eyes straight and away from Rhovan.

ooOOoo

It had been a long day and it was time to bring it to an end.

 Shouldering his bag Rhovan left his quarters and worked his way through the darkening rebel base. He past more hastily built, prefabricated buildings like the one he was billeted too. He knew he was lucky; like most officers, he had a roof over head, a bunk to lie on and privacy. Many of the lower ranks were housed under canvas, with several soldiers to one tent. It was like an ancient military camp, like something dragged out of the history data banks on Coruscant. It probably smelled like one, too. Too many beings crammed together in a small place, balanced precariously on the side of a volcano as night unfolded across the slopes.

It was noisy, too; the roar of ships landing and taking off, the shouts and yells from the training areas as the infantry ran through their paces, hammering and banging as more structures were put up and the underlying threatening rumbles of the mountain itself.

Skywalker was housed on the other side of the complex near the hangers and landing zones along with the other pilots. As he was an officer, Luke, too, had his own room within a bland and Spartan building.

Entering the structure he almost bumped into a very large wookiee who had just exited a room.

“My apologies,” Rhovan quickly told him as he past and then he did collide with someone. He reeled back, hands up ready to offer yet another apology.

“You’re the guy who brought Luke back,” the man told him with a regional Corellian accent.

Rhovan stiffened, ready to defend himself, wondering what the spacer had been told, wondering if he had spoken to the pilot, Wedge; the one who had accosted him on Ra’imar when he had  landed with Luke.

“I wanted to thank you,” the Corellian continued before Rhovan had a chance to reply. “Don’t tell Luke, but the kid means a lot to me. He needs taking care off. He has a knack for invitin’ trouble, you know?”

Rhovan did know, had seen it for himself. “No thanks are necessary,” he told the man.

The Corellian stuck his hand out. “Han Solo,” he jerked a thumb behind him at the wookiee. “This is Chewbacca, my first mate. You ever need anything just gimme a holler.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Rhovan assured him, filing the offer away. He looked at the door of the room Solo had left. “Is Luke...”

“’Kid’s fine, a bit sore at the reprimand, but he’ll recover.”

So, Luke had already disobeyed an order and divulged the result of the meeting. Rhovan wondered what else he’d told his older friend. “That’s good to hear,” Rhovan acknowledged, he nodded toward the room. “Do you think he’s up for another visit?”

“Sure,” Solo agreed happily. “Just make sure he doesn’t brood. Come on, Chewie.” He gestured to the Wookiee who lumbered after him as he moved away.

Rhovan turned to the door and lightly knocked. He took in a breath, waited and wondered what kind of reception he was about to get.

 

ooOOoo

Luke lifted his undershirt over his head, wincing as his lower back spiked and protested. He threw the garment to the floor then paused and scratched lightly at his shoulder where the bacta dressing had started to itch, peel and fall away from his healing blaster wound.

There was a knock at his door and Luke sighed in mock exasperation wondering what Han wanted this time; there was only so much mothering he could take from the Corellian. He palmed open the door. The smile on his face immediately disappeared, his stomach crashed and he took an involuntary step backward.

“Lieutenant-Commander,” Rhovan greeted.

Luke didn’t know how to respond. A reel of images, sounds and feelings flickered through his mind; of being forced to undress before this man, being struck by this man. Rhovan ordering the droid in, ordering him to be hung from the ceiling, offering him hope and then snatching it away. Memories of pain and fear so intense, so severe, that his body trembled. He was embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed of his spontaneous reaction.

“I apologise if I have come at a bad time.”

Luke struggled to calm himself, found his voice and forced out. “What do you want?”

Rhovan ignored the insubordination, accepted that Luke would find it hard addressing him as “sir” at this moment. He would have to learn, however. He took the bag from his shoulder and offered it to the younger man as he spoke. “To return something.” He watched carefully for the reaction.

Luke didn’t move. He glanced at the bag, not wanting to accept anything from the Major. However, he knew that what Rhovan offered him was probably the most precious possession he owned, one he had once thought lost and hidden on Escaal. He reluctantly reached out and took the bag. Wordlessly he turned away, allowing the door to close after him.

Rhovan’s hand caught the door and held it open. “Luke...”

“Leave,” the pilot spoke quietly, his back to the major. “Just leave.”

The Major studied Luke’s back, saw the healing scar of the blaster burn, noted the decolourisation of the skin on his lower back where the droid had released the charges and felt no remorse. He had done what was needed at the time. “You need to know something.”

Luke turned, fighting his feelings, fighting his temper, his fear. “I don’t need anything from you, Dade.” He deliberately used Rhovan’s Network codename.

 “I would do it again,” Rhovan told him, bluntly. “I needed to protect the Network and my people on Escaal.” He let his hand fall from the door but remained in the aperture so that it couldn’t close over. “Taln and Isla were my friends. They died trying to save your sorry hide, don’t let their deaths be for nothing.”

He stepped back and the door slid shut.

Luke stood for a moment, then his knees gave way and he landed on his bunk. He tightly clutched the bag in his fist, his body shivering from fright and anger. His breathing was laboured and he fought to slow it, fought to regain control over the burst of panic. He relaxed his fist, lowered the bag and forced himself to open it. It contained only one item.

His lightsaber.

The last time he had seen it had been in that cell as he had hung from the ceiling. Rhovan had shown him it as he explained that he was Dade, that he was the Network Commander and instead of getting Luke out, he was going to hand him to Vader.

He lifted the sword from the bag, turned the cylinder in his hands noting the dirt that smeared the shaft and hand grip. He had hidden it under a rock on Escaal and he briefly wondered how Rhovan had found it. Not that he was intending on asking. He ignited it and, as the blue blade emerged, as the hum of the sword filled the room, he smiled. It felt right, the first right in a very long time. It felt like home.

_Home..._

_Warm air and sunlight. Tan sand, golden dunes and red rocks._

_A woman in simple clothing calling him home..._

_“Luke?”_

_A gentle hand placed against his cheek._

He frowned at the trailing recollection of a dream he’d had. A dream of home that had come to him during his ordeal, a memory of peace and love. His aunt’s voice whispering at the fringes of his mind, trying to tell him something.

_“You are his weakness, Luke...”_

_A dark figure standing by his grandmother’s grave. A tall figure, hooded and cloaked against the Tatooine winds._

_“And you have a strength within you that he craves.”_

He frowned, confused at the images, and shut the saber off. He had no idea why the images had come to him, no idea what they meant – if anything – nor who his aunt had been talking about. He only knew that the dreams had helped sustain him through his darkest and weakest moments, had stopped him from divulging Ra’imar’s location. They had helped him keep Vader at bay.

He lifted the discarded undershirt from the floor and used it to wiped away the dirt and grime from the metal of the saber’s hilt, wishing it could be as easy to wipe away the remains of Escaal from himself.

ooOOoo

At the sound of the lightsaber deactivating, Rhovan turned on his heel and headed back to his own room.


	5. Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine consider Luke Skywalker following the events of the previous chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am only playing in George Lucas's (and now Disney's) sandbox. My only profit is the fun I have...

** Dark Times: Chapter Four **

 

** Conflict **

It had been raining continuously since the attack and now, several days later, the ground was saturated; a soft and marshy quagmire. The AT-ST’s had been returned to the Executor after several had become stuck in the deepening mud. The search for any stray rebels on the planet had been given over to the repulsor tanks and foot patrols.

The search of the fallen base and surrounding area was winding down and the final rebel stragglers had been herded in with those caught in the initial assault. Blaster shots rang out as the stormtroopers began dispatching the enemy wounded who had been languishing in pain in open pens since their capture.  Shouted orders echoed as Imperial officers dragged out those they believed could yield more information, they were bound together and marched to waiting shuttles. Other rebels; still and dejected after days of questioning, were lined up before a firing squad.

Darth Vader watched dispassionately as many turned their faces to the sky and allowed the water to run in rivulets off their skin, knowing it would be last sensation they would ever feel and relishing their final moments.

As the shots rang out they crumbled to the ground and were replaced by another group.

Vader turned away, aware of the water that ran over his mask, aware that, as with the dead rebels, he would never again feel rain on his face.  He allowed his next regulated breath to burn in his lungs, allowed the pain to permeate through him, infuse into his being. It lessened the loss he felt, the unwelcome grief that had lingered since Escaal when his son was snatched from him and the new spur that had stabbed home when Luke’s x-wing had soared into the clouds. It lessened the loss and fired his anger.

He tightened his fist as his breath was expelled; the wet leather creaked as it tightened over his prosthetic fingers. No rain, no touch, no sensation. But there was pain, always pain, and he used it to strengthen himself in much the same way as he had suggested to Luke on Escaal. He used the pain, used his anger and hatred to drive him, to nourish him. His hatred and anger for those who had caused the pain.

Obi-Wan...

The Jedi...

_But they are gone. Your revenge on them complete._

No, it was not complete. They had taken his child, his son, and turned him against his father.

_You struck him. He fears you._

As he should.

_You killed his mother..._

Had he? Or had the nightmare been true.

_“It was only a dream.”_

Padme.

He should hate her, too. He should scorn her name, refuse to think of her.

_“Obi-Wan was right. You’ve changed.”_

Changed.

_“I’m not the Jedi I should be.... I want more.”_

He closed his eyes at the echo of his own voice, young, unencumbered by his mask and his pain. He had been lost at that moment, torn and unsure.

Conflicted.

_“You must choose!”_

And he had. He had chosen power; the power that was to save his love, the power that ultimately had failed him and left him bereft and empty. A shell for the dark side, a vassal for Sidious to control and order...

_“I want more...”_

The problem always seemed that he didn’t know what more he wanted. Being a Jedi had not been enough, being in love was not enough, having power had not sated his need.

Until he had discovered Luke.

And he finally knew what he wanted, what he needed, what would give him satisfaction. He had not realised it when Padme had told him of her pregnancy, had been too young, too blind to appreciate what a child would mean.

_“Our baby is a blessing...”_

He could still see her. The japor snippet resting against the skin of her neck, her large eyes looking to him for reassurance. He had given it, but he hadn’t really felt it. Everything had been changing around them, the Jedi and the Chancellor vying for control and he and Padme had been caught in the middle; pawns for both.

Their child adding to the pressures.

He closed his eyes, tried to focus against the memories that had been surfacing more and more since he had found that his child had survived. Memories that he wanted no part of, memories that belonged to another time and another man. He was Anakin Skywalker no more.

_And yet, you claim his son._

He growled low in his throat at the mocking inner voice that had sounded like Obi-Wan. Smug, words spoken with a smile as he pointed out the obvious to his padawan.

And a part of him wished that Obi-Wan was still alive, that the old man had lived to see the day that Luke would be his. The day that Luke would stand by his father’s side and...

_... a twist of anger, agitation._

A flicker in the Force. He caught it, followed its trail. He smiled as he caught Luke’s signature. He had found his son. The boy was unsettled, was struggling against intense emotions and...

_“You are his weakness...”_

_A dark figure standing by his mother’s grave. A tall figure, hooded and cloaked against the Tatooine winds._

_“And you have a strength within you that he craves.”_

Vader knew the voice that echoed, knew it but couldn’t place it. He knew he had heard it briefly a long time ago. He strained to know more, to see more. Confused by the images of Tatooine.

That voice, it sounded like...

_“This is my girlfriend, Beru.”_

Beru....

The woman Owen Lars had eventually married. The woman Luke called “aunt.” The woman killed along with her husband for harbouring rebel owned droids.

He gathered the Force to him. Chased after the images that Luke was unconsciously sending out.

_A lightsaber. Blue blade being deactivated. A cloth rubbing away dirt and stains from the familiar hilt. A room, small and plain. A mountain outside the window, its side green and lush, its peak covered with rolling dark clouds of..._

“My Lord?”

He roared at the interruption as the scene was torn from him, his temper surging. He threw out his arm and the officer who had spoken was thrown several feet to land and tumble through the puddles. It suddenly grew quiet as troopers and officers alike stopped what they were doing to look in his direction. He ignored them as he strode across to the fallen officer, reached down and dragged the scared and bedraggled man to his feet.  “What is it, Lieutenant?” he asked, frustration biting his words.

The officer tried to snap to attention, tried to speak through the mud that clung to his face. “The... the last of the prisoners... have been disposed of,” the young man swallowed, tired not to look up at the Dark Lord who towered over him. The man who had pushed him away without even touching him. “Those with rank have been transported to the ship and the patrols can find no trace of any other escaped Rebels...”

“Then we are finished here. Destroy what is left of the base and recall your men.” He turned away, his gaze turning to the road and the spot where his son had stood several days ago. Alone and resolute. So close...

“Yes, My lord, but...”

Vader squashed his impatience, tore his eyes from the trail and looked around. “What?” he barked.

The young man swallowed, nervously. “We have a communication from Imperial Centre. The Emperor is asking for you, sir.”

“Have my shuttle brought to me.”

“At once, my Lord,” the Lieutenant acknowledged quickly and he practically ran to obey the given order.

Vader turned to the road way once more and closed his eyes, feeling his way through the force, trying to find his son. But the voice was silent and the path empty.

ooOOoo

He knelt to the large holographic image of Darth Sidious and uttered words learned so well that they were automatic and spontaneous. “What is thy bidding, my master.”

Palpatine leaned forward, towering over his servant. “You are not on Escaal, my friend.”

“No, master. I followed the Rebel pilot to Ra’imar and have destroyed a Rebel outpost that...”

“You assignment was Escaal. Your assignment was to find the Rebel pilot, to make an example of him, to bring the local population into line.” The Emperor reminded him.

“The local population will no longer question your authority, master,” Vader assured him. “However, the Rebel pilot had been captured and questioned before my arrival. He was freed by the Primary Interrogator who...”

“Yes, I know,” the emperor interrupted. “Major Rhovan has disappointed me. A promising officer corrupted by sentiment for a rebel boy. Neither will be shown mercy when they are brought before me.”

Fear flared in the pit of his stomach at the statement. Sidious knew about Rhovan, he must also know that Luke was the captured pilot. The name of the rebel  who had destroyed the Death Star had been known for some time and still they had both to openly acknowledge it, to discuss it, to recognise Luke as his son.  Vader had to wonder what game was being played, and by whom. “I shall seek them out, master,” he vowed, despite his own misgivings. “And bring them to you.”

“In time, my friend,” Sidious soothed him, with a smile. “I have a task of a different nature for you. This petty uprising needs ended. The Rebel Alliance should be brought to its knees. The population of the Galaxy needs to see them as terrorists and insurgents.”

“Yes, master,” Vader agreed.

Palpatine continued. “The research facility orbiting Cusrean is old and obsolete. I intend to move the personnel to better facilities to pursue their studies. I want you to oversee its closure and transfer of personnel. I want you to ensure the operation goes smoothly.”

“Master, that task is...” Vader started to protest, not understanding why he was being given such a menial assignment. He was above such work, he was...

“Once the facility is stripped, you will refit it as a refugee processing centre. Fill it with the widows and orphans of this war.”

Confused, Vader tried again. “Master I...”

“The transfer is to occur in utmost secrecy. Its status should remain active. Allow your presence to be seen. Allow the knowledge that the Cusrean facility is being upgraded and that the bio-weapons research has made a breakthrough to leak to the Bothans.”

Vader’s mind turned, trying to follow what the Emperor was saying. “You are baiting a trap.” He finally stated.

The emperor grinned, eyes glowing yellow. “The Rebels will strike. Their soft sentimentality will drive them to take action once they learn of the experiments. They will strike Cusrean in the belief that it is a weapons facility and they will destroy a refugee centre.

“The galaxy will be outraged at the death of civilians, at the deaths of hundreds of helpless beings. The rebellion will lose support across the star systems, allowing us to exploit their weakness. A code spliced in with the data received by the Bothans will allow us to trace its route. We will then flush out the subversive elements within our own intelligence and strike a major blow against this miserable rebellion.” He paused, his voice softened. “Then you may chase your pilot once more.”

Vader bowed his head. “As you wish, my master.”

 

ooOOoo

Darth Sidious terminated the holo connection and turned from the device to the wide panoramic window that framed the view of twilight on Imperial Centre. Towers and spires rose into the darkening sky and high above them the traffic lanes were clogged with vehicles, as they were at all hours. Higher still, great Star Destroyers, silhouetted against the fading sunlight, moved through the atmosphere surrounded by swarms of patrolling TIE fighters.

He smiled at the spreading darkness. All was as it should be. He, the Sith, had realised their Empire once more. They had hidden, passed knowledge from Master to apprentice through tens of generations and they held the Galaxy in their grip once more. This time, there would be no relinquishing, no capitulation and loss.

The Jedi no longer existed to stand against them.

His apprentice had been the key, the hammer behind his power. The Jedi’s precious Chosen One, the one who was to bring balance had wrought only destruction on the Jedi and he had done so with vengeance and lust, with a passion for revenge so strong that it almost surpassed that of his master.

Sidious smiled. Yes, all was as it should be.

Including this rebellion. This was meant to be, for how else could he function with nothing on which to focus and build his efforts, to assist in the consolidation of his power? How else could he function with nothing to suppress, to crush?

The rebellion served its purpose and in time he would wipe them out as he had with the Jedi and the Separatists. Then he would wait until another small voice spoke out against him and he would nourish it, allow it room to grow and flourish, give it hope. Then he would crush that, too. That was his goal, his game, his way of asserting his power, his darkness.

Conflict.

Thin lips pursed as he considered the word, eyes flashing yellow.

It would also appear that Darth Vader was experiencing his own conflict. The appearance of the rebel pilot who carried the name of Skywalker had struck a cord within his apprentice. One, that perhaps, Sidious had been mistaken to encourage.

He had thought that once Vader had been confronted by the ignorant youth that he would have been disappointed, would have dispatched the untrained boy in the same manner as the younglings from the Jedi temple. However, the boy had proven to have more strength than he had first considered and Vader had been impressed, proud. His servant’s feelings for his son had resonated through the Force. Vader was becoming fixated, obsessed. It was a trait that Sidious had manipulated in the past, used it for his own ends...

_“Know the power of the Darkside. The power to save Padme.”_

He linked his fingers, rubbed his knuckles against his chin as he watched the traffic flow, the lanes and paths of vehicles spinning an intricate web before his eyes much as the Force was spinning in his mind.

The boy was strong, even he had felt it as the Force support the youth throughout his ordeal on Escaal and beyond.  He had felt the bursts of light as the boy had fought to defend himself, had felt his radiance push back the blackness even if only briefly. But he had also felt more; stirring beneath the pilot’s light was fear and rage and hatred. Feelings so strong that the shadows had sang, had resonated with his power.

 Later he had viewed the recordings of the interrogation from Escaal, had watched as Rhovan was revealed to be the Escaal Resistance Commander, watched as Vader had inspected his bloodied and beaten child, watched as Skywalker had struggled to resist his torture and won the fight.

Perhaps Skywalker’s son warranted closer inspection. Perhaps the boy’s burgeoning powers required investigating; perhaps... just perhaps the boy could be of some use.

A Father pitted against a son who did not know his origins.

A Father pitted against a son who fought for the enemy.

A son unaware of his powers and potential importance.

A son who could bring down a Rebellion.

The Chosen One and his son.

Sidious smiled and turned from the window, robes rustling softly in the quiet of the room as he walked back toward the holo console and activated it. He quickly entered the scrambling code and embedded it in the signal. He didn’t need to wait long.

“I am yours to command, my Emperor.” The tiny figure bowed.

“You are in place?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“And young Skywalker?”

“He has been suitable chastised.”

“Good, you have pleased me.”

“I live to serve only you.”

Palpatine ignored his servant’s ingratiating. “There is a change to your orders. You are to observe Luke Skywalker and report on his activities for the Rebellion. I want the specifics of any Jedi abilities he displays, of any task that will bring him close to Lord Vader.”

“As you wish.”

“Watch him,” The Dark Lord warned. “Watch him closely.”

“Yes, my master...” The figure bowed further as Sidious broke the connection.

Yes, everything was as it should be.


	6. A Legitimate Target - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke begins to heal, but the Alliance learns of a biological weapon being developed by the Empire...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I make no claim on the copyright held by Lucasfilm and Disney, the only profit I get from fan fiction is the fun I have.

Dark Times Chapter 5:

A Legitimate Target

Part One

 

The little droid stood, deactivated and silent, as the man worked. His fingers twisted wires and by-passed the central processing unit. He soldered a tiny, separate system into place, hiding it amongst the older, larger drives of the machine. Then he hooked up the optical relays and tested the new network before sitting back on his heels and smiling at his work. Even the droid wouldn’t know the new system was there.

ooOOoo

Luke Skywalker tucked his shirt into his pants, fastened up his fly and reached for his boots. Sitting on the bench, he pulled them on. Then he stood up, glancing at himself in the mirror fixed to the wall above the sink. Bad idea…

The face that looked back from the medical exam room mirror was tired and strained. Nervous. The eyes were heavy-lidded, shadows colouring the skin under them. The cheeks were pale, the hair hanging limp, lifeless and lack-lustre.

Luke turned away before he could see more; before he had to admit that he knew what the result of the exam was going to be.

He wasn’t flight ready. Dejectedly he drew on his weapons belt, adjusted his blaster holster and clipped his lightsaber back onto the loop.

He pulled himself to sit on the exam bench and waited for the medic to return. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Well,” the doctor started as she re-entered the room, eyes firmly fixed on the datapad she carried. “Blood works are all normal. Your spinal injury has healed nicely and any residual stiffness should clear up in the next few days. Your shoulder is fine, the scars from the blaster wound are also healing well. The fracture on your ankle has set as it should, although you may experience some weakness during physical exercise for a few more weeks.”

She stopped, regard him with some concern. “Your blood pressure is a little elevated, but is still within normal parameters. You’re still not sleeping well, are you?”

“It shows, huh?” Luke gave a self-deprecating smile.

“Doctor Therriman’s report shows that you are making good progress, Luke. Post traumatic stress can take a while to work through and...”

“I don’t have a while, doctor, I’m a pilot. Squad Second and my flight needs me. We’re short of pilots and...”

She waved a hand at him, her eyes still on the datapad. “And your place on the squad will still be there for you, once you are fit.”

“I feel fine,” Luke protested. “Nothing hurts and...”

“Luke,” she sighed, setting down the datapad and looking at him. “You know that until I have a psych report from Doctor Therriman confirming that you are mentally fit, I cannot pass you for flight duty…”

Luke jumped down from the bench. “Still grounded,” he stated, defeated.

The medic smiled with empathy. “For now.”

“Thanks, Doc,” though his tone did not convey any gratitude. He was frustrated, angry, eager to get back in the X-Wing and into battle.

_Pay back..._

“I’ll see you next duty cycle,” she told him, kindly.

Luke merely nodded his agreement before walking out. He pushed his way through the milling personnel, making his way outside, heading towards the hangars: to the ship he was not allowed to fly. He paused outside the massive doors, listening as the banter and the laughter of the pilots and crews was drowned out by the revving of an engine being tested. He drew in a breath of fuel and engine oil: and sulphur from the belching volcano towering above the base.

Even the sight of the massive mountain could stir him no longer. He wanted more, needed more, than the tedious existence of desk duty and flimsy-pushing… He was a pilot, a fighter, a…

_...Jedi Knight like my father..._

He closed his eyes in growing bitterness, could feel his exasperation and anger building. He was no Jedi, had little chance of reaching that exalted goal with no-one to teach him.

“Hey, Yizzi, I need that hydro spanner!”

Luke grimaced at the shout from within and turned on his heel. This wasn’t where he should be, this wasn’t the right place. This place would only serve to make him feel worse.

But where else to go? His next shift at the desk wasn’t until eighteen hundred hours; his bunk room was bare and empty and none too welcoming; the mess hall too full; the hangars only reminded him of what he was unable to do. He was tired of running through the simulations. Han was off world, Leia locked in conference.

He felt lost and alone, with no idea where to turn next. His stomach was churning for reasons he couldn’t identify… but this time there was no insistent desire to flee: no urgent threat.

He looked up at the twisting volcano smoke and smiled. Well, there was no threat… yet…

No, neither the volcano nor the Empire were the cause of the churning in his belly. He had felt this once before, he remembered: on Tatooine. He had felt it that night when he had stood on the farm perimeter and stared at the dying suns…

The eve of his new life: the death of his old.

Is that what this feeling meant now? Was this day the eve of something else?

He shook himself from the thoughts, he was becoming morose, becoming lost in thought and if it continued in this vein he would start thinking more thoughts, ones that he wanted to avoid and...

_“It’s okay, it’s okay. This’ll be over soon...”_

“Dammit,” he cursed, forcing the whisper of Dade’s voice to the back of his mind. This is what he wanted to avoid, this is what he wanted to forget and...

_“And you will fail...”_  Vader’s voice rumbled from within him.

“Shit,” he whispered. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, the memory of Vader’s mask just centimetres away strong in his mind. He took a step forward, not knowing where he was going, just knowing he had to move from this place at this moment before someone saw him loitering and started asking questions about how he was, how they missed him, when was he coming back to squad?

His footsteps quickened as he fought to keep his mind blank. A piercing whistle rose from behind him, startling him, and he turned.

“Hi, Artoo,” he greeted, a little shakily. He gestured at the hangars. “We’re still grounded.”

The little droid tooted softly.

Luke didn’t have a clue what Artoo had said, but it had sounded like a commiseration. “Thanks,” he acknowledged.

He stared at the droid. He sometimes felt that the little machine was more a friend than a mechanical device. He sometimes felt that Artoo could read his feelings more accurately than any of his human friends. He certainly owed his life to Artoo, and his freedom from Escaal.

However, he couldn’t talk to the droid. He couldn’t explain how he really felt because he knew that Artoo wouldn’t really understand.

If only Leia wasn’t stuck in a council meeting. If only Wedge wasn’t gearing up for another patrol. If only he’d said yes to Han’s repeated offer to join him and Chewie on the Falcon…

_“Come on, kid. This is killing you. Take some leave, Sith-knows you’ve earned it.”_

_“I don’t think they’d let me.” He played with the beer bottle in his hand, raised it to his lips and took a long draught of the bitter liquid._

_“They wouldn’t have a choice if you resigned, Luke.” Solo lounged back and placed his feet up on the hologame board. “I’ve been telling you, there’s more than one way to fight the Empire. Come with me and Chewie, run the supply lines! It’s good livin’.”_

_Luke laughed. “_ Now _it’s a good living? That’s not what you said after the last run when the Falcon’s...”_

_Han grimaced. “Don’t remind me... But at least I’m out there, up there and not stuck on this rock waiting for the damned thing to blow its top. All that rumblin’ makes me nervous.”_

_“I can’t. They need me and...”_

_“That’s your problem right there, kid!” Solo interrupted. “Only, sometimes you have to think about yourself and not other people! The Rebellion would go on just fine without their Poster Boy!”_

_Luke laughed at that, sounding just as bitter as the beer they were drinking.”I’m hardly that, Han. Besides, I think it’s the Empire that’s been putting my poster up.”_

_“Yeah,” Han agreed with a half-smile, “with big red numbers underneath your pretty face.”_

_“Just think what you could do with all those credits, Han.” Luke joked, though his stomach rolled at the thought of being one of the most notorious men in the Galaxy, and the number of hired guns who would be watching for him. “You could give the Falcon a complete overhaul.”_

_“Yeah....” Solo made a play of considering this, then winked at his young friend. “So... you gonna come with me?”_

_Luke up ended the beer, drained the bottle. “Nope, but I am gonna get drunk.”_

_“Might just kidnap you then...”_

Another hoot brought him back to the present.

“I’ve no idea,” Luke shrugged, guessing Artoo’s question. “I guess I could stop by the simulator – run through a few more attack patterns, or maybe we could work on my ‘Wing with the techs...”

But hadn’t he just turned away from there? Hadn’t he just decided the hanger wasn’t the place for him right now? But where else could he go? What else could he do? “What do you think?”

There was a screech of electronic chatter and the astrodroid lowered his middle tread and rolled around the ground. Luke frowned, smiled, wondering what Artoo was doing, what the little droid was trying to tell him.

“Artoo?”

 The droid bumped into him, making him take a few stumbled steps. “What the hell?”

The droid burbled beside him, a panel sliding to the side and the gripping appendage reaching out to unhook Luke’s lightsaber from his belt. He dropped it to the dirt.

“Artoo!” Luke exclaimed, bending down to retrieve the weapon. “What’s got into you?”

Artoo chirped and ran a circle around him.

Luke frowned at the droid, not understanding. He pulled his shirt from his pants and rubbed at the dirt on the sabre hilt. He had thought it lost on Escaal, had thought it would remain hidden under a rock on empty moorland… until Dade had waved it in his face while he hung from a line in that cell and revealed his identity as the Network commander. The very man who should have been helping him was torturing him.

He closed his eyes against the memories, felt the weight of the weapon in his hand. It had been a while since he had truly given the sword some thought, its meaning sometimes forgotten to him as he lived the life of an Alliance fighter pilot. There was so little time to ponder its significance, so little time to practise the basic skills Obi-Wan had attempted to pass on.

Now he had been given time.

He opened his eyes. Maybe Artoo did understand him better than anyone else. “That’s what I need, huh? You’ve still a couple of practice remotes, right?”

Artoo quietly blooped at him and fell in at his master’s side as Luke set off for the base’s perimeter.

ooOOoo

The Cusrean system lay mid-rim with only one habitable planet. The system was fanatically pro-Empire, its people ardent in their worship of Palpatine and thus it has almost been completely stripped of its natural resources in service, in sacrifice, to the greater good of the Empire. It had been mined for minerals and metals. Research facilities dotted the planets and the moons, exploring new weapons, new medicines and new technologies.

Above the polluted atmosphere of the one planet that could sustain life, orbiting platforms and a space station slowly circled. Cargo ships moved slowly between the structures. Further out huge Star Destroyers were refitted and refuelled. TIE fighters flew patrol routes, guarding this dying commodity.

One facility stood out beyond all others. The huge bio-weapons facility hung malignantly over the planet, sensor arrays and solar panels protruding like claws reaching out toward the scarred and damaged surface. It was like an insect sucking the life force from the planet below.

Vader turned from the view port of the Executor’s bridge to face the officer before him. “You have done well, Captain, commend your men.”

“Thank you, Mi’Lord,” Piett gave a small nod in acknowledgement. It was rare to get praise from the Dark Lord.

“Have the refugee barges begin off-loading onto the station and assign them quarters. Explain that the relocation process may take several weeks and that the Executor will remain in orbit for their protection. Use runners, Captain. I want no transmissions that may be intercepted. The Rebels need to believe the station is still working to full capacity or it will not draw them out.”

“It shall be done, My Lord.”

Piett bowed and turned on his heels, and Vader returned to the view beyond. The planet was rust-coloured, dying: its death throes creating ripples in the Force itself as its crust was torn apart by seismic quakes and eruptions. Even from high orbit huge plumes of smoke could be seen rising into the atmosphere from erupting craters, poison gases steaming out from rents in the ground and...

_...there was another tremor. He looked up, could see black smoke billowing across the blue of the sky and he waited, cautious of another quake. The ground stilled and he drew in a breath of sulphur-tainted air and closed his eyes as he brought the lightsaber back up before him trying to grasp onto the Force and..._

...the vision lasted seconds, thrust into his mind and dragged away before he could grasp onto it and follow its trail.

His son!

He closed his eyes, tried to recapture the images, trying to re-engage with the fleeting feelings, but the Force only resonated with the dying of the planet. He suppressed a growl of frustration, hands closing into fist. The boy was elusive, his presence strong one moment and gone the next. It was difficult to get a firm grip.

_Even when you had him in front of you, you let him go._ He chose to ignore his inner chiding voice. The boy had help. A lucky escape...

_Twice?_ His mind mocked.

And he suddenly saw Luke again on Ra’imar, standing alone on the road, in the rain, hunched over, one arm held close to his chest. Twice the injured boy had been torn from his grasp by others. There would not be a third time.

He turned abruptly from the view port and strode from the bridge, ignoring the cautious glances from his men, ignoring the relief that fell across the control room as the door closed at his back. He headed for his quarters, for his hyperbaric chamber and solitude. He needed to find peace, solace. He needed to give himself to the Force. He needed to find his son before anyone else did.

ooOOoo

Luke yelped at the sting of the remote’s tiny laser burst as it hit his upper arm. He stumbled, twisted on his newly-healed ankle and collapsed in a heap, heaving in air with hungry need. His muscles spasmed with exertion, and his blood rushed, his heart hammered quickly to get oxygen around his body to meet his physical demands. The remote moved off to hover, humming quietly to the side of him. His lightsaber was deactivated, but still clutched firmly in his hand. A light breeze danced over his naked back, sweat trickled down over his side. He massaged his lower leg, cursing in Huttese.

When he had regained his breath he turned over and lay on his back, staring up at the dark outcrop of rocks that loomed above his chosen practise area. He was only a few hundred metres from the base, but lying here he could quite believe he was the only being on the planet.

The Alliance had chosen to situate its base high on the forested slopes of a massive, and active, volcano. It had taken the Ra’imar evacuees some time to acclimatise themselves to the thinner air and heavier gravity of the planet. Luke had been taken by the beauty of the place, the majesty of the smoking mountain. It seemed dark, foreboding but somehow it offered a sense of safety, of security. After the events on Escaal, the running from Ra’imar, this period of settlement was sorely needed by many.

When he had set out with Artoo from the base perimeters he had only known he was looking for a suitably empty place where he could work through the lightsaber drill without interruption. He had lucked upon a shallow dip in the ground. Out of curiosity he had scrambled down and found himself in a small but natural arena, hidden from the base by the jutting rocks and towering trees above. The sun, shining in from the east, had provided adequate light for a couple of hours, but now it had moved past midday and the light was being blocked by the very trees and the overhang that gave him his privacy.

Perhaps it was time to call it a day and seek out some lunch. Besides he didn’t think he had achieved very much; apart from making himself exhausted, dirty and resentful of his inability to master the moves, not to mention sore from various seeker stings. The lightsaber had felt strange to wield, and had refused to feel like part of him as it had done in the past.

On the Millennium Falcon, under Ben’s directions, it had, for a short time, been an extension of his being. He had been able to feel its power, its strength. The Force had seemed to extend out from him, had seemed to meld to his moves and wishes. Today he had felt very little of the Force and he wasn’t sure that he could reach the core of his being that Ben had said was his potential, his source of energy. It was disheartening.

_Stretch out with your feelings..._

He scoffed, quietly, at the echo of Ben’s voice. Easy to say, but what if you didn’t know how to feel? What if you couldn’t identify the feelings you had, couldn’t separate one from another. What if you were afraid of those feelings, afraid what they would show you of yourself, afraid if you looked too closely you would understand...

_...I almost broke.... I almost told them everything..._

He closed his eyes, laid an arm across his face, heaved in a calming breath...

_...but you didn’t..._

...and let it out slowly, took in another...

_...he was standing there, waiting for you. All that armour for you... all those people dead because of you..._

No. It was an Alliance outpost. It was ridiculous that Vader attacked Ra’imar just because of one person, one man. The Dark Lord had tracked them there, that was all...

_...then why did he hang back when he saw you? Why did the walkers and the tanks all stop when you stood on that road? You were sure then, you were sure during the debrief, you didn’t doubt._

_Argue all you want, Skywalker. You knew. You know now._

“Dammit.”

These memories were recurrent, the same thoughts, the same concerns and the same horrors.

_...because of you..._

_“You think too much, Luke. Sometimes you just have to do the thing.”_

The whisper of Taln’s voice cut through his thoughts. Taln covered in dust and debris from the explosion that took down an Imperial residential area on Escaal during their escape. Taln who was to die a few hours later in a failed attempt to save his life.

_“...just do the thing.”_

Luke smiled, lifted his arm from his face and opened his eyes as another rumble echoed from the mountain. The ground shuddered under him, the trees above him rustled and Artoo twittered quietly catching Luke’s attention. He glanced over as the little droid shifted nervously in the dirt. “It’s okay,” he reassured the droid. He paused, concentrated on his own feelings, on the forest above him. There was nothing of concern, nothing that worried him. “It’s just another tremor, it’s not going to blow just yet.”

_“...just do the thing.”_

As he sat up, Luke considered Taln’s statement. He knew that there was no danger from the mountain, he had felt that through the Force… He had been quiet for a moment and listened to the Force. He had instinctively just done it without thinking about it.

He smiled and stood. Holding the lightsaber loosely and unlit, he closed his eyes.

Closed his eyes, emptied his mind and reached out.

Nothing.

He breathed deeply, filling his lungs, let the air out slowly. Took another breath, heard a bird sail overhead, listened to its keening cry and he touched...

...the wind carried him along, buffeted him, ripped through his hair, lifted heat from his sweat damp torso, chilled his naked skin, tugged the cloth of his pants. Then it was quiet... stilted and... there...

He ignited the saber. The remote immediately moved, darted to the side. He followed. It rose above him, fell behind him, and a shot pulsed toward him. He deflected it. Another shot, a different angle, another parry. He pivoted around, bringing the lightsaber into a defensive posture to ward off another blow.

He moved faster, the lightsaber blurring as it repelled shot after shot, as he moved deeper into the Force, allowing his reactions to be guided by instinct, by power.

A twig cracked loudly above the area.

Luke stumbled and ducked as another remote shot sang past his head. He rolled on the ground, the lightsaber extinguished, and came to rest on his stomach. He grinned into the dirt, panting from his exertion, laughed, exhilarated by his success.

Then something else, something foreign, a feeling… of...

_...being seen..._

He glanced up at the rocky over hang, expecting to see someone standing there. He pushed himself to his feet as he scanned the area sure that he had been watched, sure that someone had been there.

“Hello?” he gasped, his voice echoing quietly off the walls of the natural arena. He turned to Artoo. “Was there someone there?”

Artoo’s dome twirled around, and he twittered and burped an answer that Luke could really only guess at.

“Well, okay. But let me know if they come back.” He glanced down at himself a little self conscious of how he must look; half naked and caked in sweat and dirt. He shook his head, looked at the lightsaber in his hand and found his stance, found the force and the remote darted in again.

And Artoo watched in awe as his master practiced, all the time unaware of the recorder that had been spliced into his optical receptors.

ooOOoo

Leia Organa rubbed at her eyes, her fingers moving to her temples to massage her headache. This meeting had been going on to long and she was tired. Tired of all the talking that didn’t seem to solve anything and often ended up just adding to their problems. There were supply issues with food again, they were down three pilots for the X-Wings, the techs were having problems with one of the fighters, fuel was an issue with the last supply run being intercepted by the Empire. However, personnel numbers were high overall, with the numbers from Ra’imar swelling the ranks and causing overcrowding; all temporary shelters had been utilised and the X-Wing mechanics were bunking in the hangars. The weapons run that Solo was on was overdue by three days.

_He was probably drunk in a bar somewhere..._

The geological reports on the mountain stated that a full eruption was still some time away; the pressure being continuously vented was a good thing.  So there had been positive news.

She sighed, picked up the datapad in front of her and scrolled down through the agenda, wondering if they were going to break for lunch or carry right on through. She turned back to the meeting, trying to concentrate on the topic of discussion; transferring some of the Ra’imar survivors to other Alliance out posts.

“I really think that we need to look at the bigger picture,” Rieekan was saying, imploring the others around the table including Mon Mothma who was chairing, Ehlen Anders, from Alliance Intelligence, Captain S’adaan who was responsible for supplies, Commander Narra of Red Squad as well as the Princess Leia Organa and others more politically minded. “Having the additional ground troopers here gives us the...”

“Having the additional soldiers creates difficulties,” S’adaan countered, the Sullustan’s large dark eyes blinked rapidly. “We have barely enough to go around and there have been discipline issues among the lower ranks.”

“Discipline, isn’t an issue,” Rieekan admonished quickly. These were his men S’adaan was talking about. “It’s no more a problem now than...”

 The door of the closed meeting swept open and Leia sat up as Major Erwin Rhovan strode in, immediately addressing Mon Mothma and ignoring Rieekan’s protestations at the interruption with a wry smile.

“Mi’Lady, forgive the intrusion, but I didn’t think this could wait.” He glanced toward Leia as he handed a datapad to the Chief of State.

Mon Mothma took her time reading the information, her cheeks paling slightly as her eyes scanned the document. She glanced at the representatives at the table, then back up at Rhovan. “This information is accurate, Major?” Her voice was quiet, disturbed.

“Yes, Ma’am, we only finished decoding. It’s from our source within the Bothan Spynet.”

Mothma placed the datapad on the table. “Thank you, Major Rhovan. Please join us.”

Rhovan grabbed an empty chair from the side of the room and sat at the conference table opposite to the Princess Organa. The daughter of Darth Vader and the sister of Luke Skywalker was looking at him with interest. He nodded in recognition of her while taking a mental note to introduce himself to her when this meeting ended.

Leia acknowledged the Major’s greeting with small nod of her own.

So, this was Rhovan, the man who had rescued Luke from Darth Vader. That was the official story, but she knew that a different one lay beyond it. Due to her friendship with Luke she had not been party to the full story, had been advised away from Luke’s hearing several weeks ago and even Luke himself had said little. He didn’t have to. She had seen him, she had seen what had been done to him and she suspected that she knew by whom. Rhovan had been an Imperial Interrogation specialist and Luke had been his prisoner.

Her stomach twisted with anger, and she felt the emotion blush on her cheeks, hating that she had to sit in the same room as him now. Rhovan was the type of man who believed that the ends suited the means, where she had been taught, and believed, the very opposite. If the Alliance were to stoop to such tactics as the Empire then they would not deserve to win this war.  However, she knew there were those among her peers who believed, and authorised, actions that Vader himself would be proud of in the name of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.

It sickened her: worried her. Would the restoration of the Republic be won solely with blood? She feared it would: feared that this conflict would be as brutal as the Clone Wars. After all, had she not taken up arms herself against her own people’s peaceful beliefs? And had they not paid the ultimate punishment?

She shook herself from the memory, tore her inner eye from visions of Alderaan as it died in the flash of the Death Star’s tremendous power, and directed her attention to Mothma. The Chief of State was telling the gathering what Rhovan had shown her. She needed to listen, to focus on the words and not on the man sitting at the other side of the table, or on memories too terrible to contemplate, or a pain that was too much to bear.

“... gravity of this information.” Mon Mothma was saying. “The Cusrean Imperial Bio-Weapons facility has been upgraded and expanded. It appears to have made a breakthrough in the development of Felucian Necrosis. They have developed a method to disperse the spores that activates and accelerates their reproductive properties in air, in water and through touch. According to their data, subjects of varying species are incapacitated in fifteen minutes, dead in twelve hours. They are moving onto the weapons production and testing stage; they have tentatively suggested to the Emperor that they test the toxin on Mygeeto and are awaiting his decision.”

She paused, looked down at the data in her hand. “I remember the reports from Felucia about the Necrosis during the clone wars, how the flesh was eaten. I remember that the infected clones died in agony.”

There was silence in the room, all day to day petty problems forgotten as the information sank in. A horrible death on a massive scale; male, female, children of many species.

Mon Mothma put the pad down and looked around the sombre room. “I suggest Cusrean is our next target.”

Rieekan nodded. “I concur.”

“We need more information about the Cusrean facility,” Leia said, leaning forward to address Mon Mothma at the top of the table. “And...”

“It’s all in the report,” Rhovan explained. “It’s an orbital platform, lightly armed, but heavily guarded by a Command ship and two additional cruisers. There is a refitting and refuelling station also in orbit, but the report suggests that facility is being decommissioned.”

“Orbital,” Commander Narra also sat forward, knowing this would be his mission. “The TIE compliment alone from these ships would number...”

“... twelve TIEs per attack squadron, six squadrons per attack wing. Three wings in a standard cruiser, six in the Super Star Destroyer,” Rhovan informed him, grinning. He shrugged. “Assuming they are all working of course.”

Leia felt her blood run cold as she did the math. The odds of an attack against a force of that size was...

“...suicide!” S’adaan was saying. “We can’t sanction this.”

“Then we sanction the deaths of millions, Captain,” Mon Mothma told him sharply. “If we fail to act now, before they have fully weaponised the spores and tested them, our fight for the Republic will fail completely.”

“This isn’t like the Death Star,” the Captain argued. “This is something that our own science division can countermand with...”

“How many would die before an antidote, or a vaccine, could be produced?” Rieekan broke in. “How would we distribute it? Could we even succeed when they failed so badly to find a treatment during the Clone Wars?” The General was drawing on his own experiences of the Clone Wars. He had seen men die of the disease.

“There is no doubt that we have to strike,” Mon Mothma told them.

“The research station is old. It has been upgraded and refitted recently, but it is essentially the same platform that was built just after Palpatine came to power,” Rhovan told them. “One or two proton torpedoes should do the trick. It’s the getting close to it that would be the difficult part.”

“And the getting away again,” Narra told them, pointedly. “If the odds weren’t bad enough, I’m down three pilots.”

“Do we have time to recruit pilots from another outpost?” Mon Mothma wanted to know. “Derra IV is...”

“They have already asked Palpatine for permission. He could sanction it in hours, we don’t have time, M’Lady,” Rhovan reminded her.

“Hours...” she echoed, paling. “Is there anyone else with fighter experience that we could draft into an X-Wing?”

“There’s Luke.”

All heads turned at the soft voice.

“There’s Luke,” Leia said again, louder this time.

Narra smiled, nodding. “Having Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker back would help. He’s one of the best pilots we have and...”

“He’s grounded pending the completion of physical and mental evaluations,” Ehlen Anders reminded them. “He’s not ready.”

“His scores in the simulator say different,” Narra countered, biting back anger. “His reflexes are quicker than ever, his concentration in the cockpit is frankly astounding.”

“In a simulator,” Anders stressed. “That is hardly a combat situation, where the environment and mental approach is somewhat different. This is not the kind of battle that we want Skywalker to fight in just yet.”

“This is exactly what Luke needs, to get back into the cockpit,” Narra argued, tightly. “I need him back in my squad, Major.”

“Can you take the chance of him freezing when things get tough?” Ehlen asked. “You’d end up another pilot down, and a ship down. Possibly more.”

“I have twenty birds, Major,” Narra informed her, laconically, “and eighteen pilots including Luke. I’m going up against over eight hundred TIE fighters, several hundred Interceptors, a Super class Star Destroyer and at least two additional cruisers. I have a feeling I’ll be lucky not to lose us all.”

Narra’s brief outline of the situation sobered them all, Leia included. How could she have been so eager to put Luke into danger?

_It’s what he would want..._

It’s what he has been complaining about for weeks. It’s what he had been craving; it’s what made him pace her quarters like a caged Tree-Myre. His impatience, his need, his longing: transforming themselves into an unfulfilled nervous energy.

_“I need to go back up, Leia. I need to get back into the fight. I’m going stir crazy being stuck here.”_

_“You need to heal, Luke,” she reminded him._

_“I have healed!” he exclaimed. “How much more healing do I need to do?”_

_“I’m not a doctor, Luke...”_

_He sank to the floor, sitting cross legged at her feet, defeated. “Maybe I should just go with Han.”_

_Her heart sank. “He’s asked you again?”_

_He nodded, not looking at her. “Several times.”_

_“And are you considering it?” She was astounded, taken aback, afraid. “Luke, you know that...”_

_“Leia, I...” he took in a shuddering breath, kept his eyes on the floor unable to meet hers. “This is what I need. Not just what I want. I... I have too much time...” and he turned his eyes to her. The blue, dulled, deepened with pain, with memories. “...you know?”_

_She did know, she did understand. You had to keep busy to keep the memories at bay. The cell, the droid, the despair and anguish._

“Luke should go,” she reaffirmed, hoping she was doing the right thing for him.

It was Rhovan who spoke next. “I agree.”

“And why is that, Major Rhovan?” Mothma wanted to know.

Leia looked to the Chief of State, surprised that Mon Mothma had asked the Major and not her to explain why Luke should join the attack,

Rhovan suppressed a smile, deliberately avoided the Princess’s eyes as he spoke. “The command ship is Darth Vader’s.”

And Leia saw something pass between the two Chandrilans; it seemed to be an understanding that only they were party to. It confused her, unsettled her.

 Something about Luke and Darth Vader.

“Very well,” Mon Mothma agreed. “Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker will rejoin Red Squad.” She turned to the senior Military figures. “General Rieekan, Commander Narra, as time is of the essence I suggest you plan our strategy immediately. We only have a few have hours, gentlemen if we are to pull this off. I cannot stress enough that we must succeed in this endeavour or the Galaxy will surely suffer the consequences of our failure today.”

Leia swallowed her disquiet, pushed it aside as the meeting broke up. She headed for the door. She wanted to see Luke, wanted to tell him herself what was happening. She wanted to see him before he left...

_To say goodbye..._

And wish him luck.

“Your Highness!”

She turned at the call and found Rhovan heading her way. “Major, what can I do for you?”

He towered over her, smiled down at her. “I just wanted to say how thrilled I was to finally meet you. I was a great admirer of your father’s.”

Somehow Leia doubted this, although she could find no reason why Rhovan should lie to her. “Thank you, Major, and I should thank you for returning Luke to us.”

“Perhaps the credit should lie with Luke’s droid. It created the window of opportunity to escape.”

Leia smiled, genuinely. “Yes, Artoo does not stray too far from Luke’s side."

“Such loyalty is rare,” Rhovan noted.

“Luke has... a knack for instilling loyalty in many, not just in droids.” Leia told him.

“Then I shall bear that in mind,” Rhovan told her. He bowed as an alarm sounded around the base and a call for the pilots was broadcast. Suddenly there was an urgency in the air. “If you’ll excuse me?”

And Leia was left feeling that she had just said something she shouldn’t have and that Rhovan had used her to gain information. After all he was a talented interrogator, one who didn’t always need to torture his subjects. By why would the loyalty that others have for Luke be worth knowing?

“Lieutenant- Commander Skywalker report to the Command Centre...”

Leia cursed at the call over the external com and ran from the room, hoping to find Luke before he was too tied up with the preparations for the mission.

ooOOoo

“Hey, hey! What do we have here! A rookie!”

There was a cacophony of cheers and light hearted jeers as Luke moved through the briefing room. He high-fived Hobbie, knocked knuckles with Janson and shook hands with several pilots he didn’t recognise. He’d been away too long.

Luke grinned at Wedge Antilles as he dropped into the chair next to him. He had just been pulling on a clean jacket after showering and dressing when the call for the pilots had gone out. The tension on the base had notably tightened and he had known immediately that something was going on. Initially he thought it may have been a ship by passing the system that they needed to check out, but when he had heard his own name called, he knew it had been something else.

He had only stepped a toe into the command centre when Rieekan ordered him to suit up and get to de-briefing, that his flight status had been reinstated. First there was the success with his lightsaber practice that had left him tired but elated and now he was back with the squad. Excitement bubbled in the pit of his stomach. It was an old feeling, a welcome one: the anticipation before a mission.  He had suited up quickly, grabbed his flight harness and helmet and headed for the briefing.

“Hey, Wedge!” he greeted happily, as he placed his helmet on the floor at his feet. “Any idea what we’re up against?”

“Nope,” Antilles told him. “Something unexpected, though, if they’re scraping you off the landing pad and putting you back in the air.”

“Ha, ha,” Luke answered dryly and, along with all the other pilots, he turned his attention frontward as Commander Narra and General Rieekan entered the room. All chatter faded out as Rieekan addressed them.

“Gentlemen,” he activated the holoprojector, wasting no time. “This is our target...”

Luke listened as Rieekan explained the target and the reason for the attack, his stomach churned with anger as the necrosis was described.  He leaned forward, head in hands, elbows on his knees as he concentrated. Narra stepped forward to outline the attack strategy, the numbers they would be up against while stressing the importance of success or countless beings in the galaxy would die.

“Shit,” Wedge breathed next to him. “These are worse odds than the Death Star.”

Luke ignored his friend’s pessimism; Wedge often thought the worse before a mission. It was his nature and he partied all the harder after a successful run, amazed to have survived one more day.

“Luke,” Narra was addressing him and he sat up straighter. “I want you to take Reds Two and Four, your target is the reactor core.” He pointed to the hologram of the facility. “Here at the base, its shielding shouldn’t withstand many hits. Once it’s down you hit it with a proton torpedo.”  He grinned at the young pilot. “Just like the Death Star.”

“Yessir!” Luke assured him, his blood rushing. This was it. He was back. Now it was his turn again.

Narra nodded. “One more thing, Reds. The command ship is Vader’s. He’s personally overseeing the development of the Necrosis. We also know he likes to fly, so if you catch him in your cross hairs don’t hesitate!”

 He paused, adding, “This is will be a tough fight, but we’ve had tougher. We leave at seventeen hundred hours. Get to you ships.”

The pilots rose from their chairs, their moods tempered by determination and a muted, unspoken fear of the future.

  Luke sat where he was, numbed by Narra’s announcement.

Vader.

_“We will speak at length, young one.”_

He swallowed, thickly, his mouth suddenly dry. The elation he felt just seconds earlier tumbled to thick anxiety in the pit of his belly. He felt sick.

Vader.

That he would be pitted so soon against the Dark Lord hadn’t occurred to him. He wasn’t ready for this, not yet. What if Vader knew he was there? What if he was shot down again? What if they got a tractor beam on him? What if...

_“You are his weakness, Luke, and you have a strength within you that he craves.”_

It was his aunt’s voice from long ago, but he thought he could smell her marave berry biscuits baking for the next morning. He smiled at the memory of the recurring dream. It had come to him during his darkest moments on Escaal when his resolve was failing. His aunt, who had always been there when he had fallen, when he had scrapped a knee or fought with his uncle had supported him once more, had believed in him.

He had connected with the Force that morning, had felt the power surging through him. It made him faster, stronger, guided his movements with the saber. He was no longer hanging beaten and bruised from a steel line, unable to defend himself or fight back. He was whole, healed and healthy. He would be in the cockpit of his X-Wing, while Vader would possibly be in the cockpit of his TIE… if he had the guts to join the fight.

They would be evenly matched and, if the rumours from the Empire were true, then Luke had already beaten him in the trench of the Death Star.

_You had help. You had Han_

“Luke?” Wedge questioned, concerned. He laid a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Hey, Luke, you  with us?”

He drew in a calming breath, grateful for Antilles’ presence...

_I have help now, too_

...and lifted his helmet from the floor. “I’m with you, Wedge,” and there was an edge to his voice that Antilles had never heard before, something darker in his friend’s eyes. “I’m just looking forward to some pay back.”

ooOOoo

Leia was out of breath by the time she reached the pilot’s briefing room. She had been unable to reach Luke before the squad briefing, then had been called to the Command Centre to discuss the raid in more detail and the wording of a statement that the Alliance would publically announce to the galaxy after the mission had been completed either successful or not. And now, mere minutes before departure, she had been able to excuse herself to find him.

Narra exited first. He smiled with genuine affection. “Your Highness, good of you to see us off.”

“Always, Commander. May the Force be with you.”

He smiled. “With Luke back in the squad it just might be.” He glanced back into the doorway as more pilots spilled out and headed for their ships. “He should be right out,” he bowed his head in respect. “If you’ll excuse me.” And he was gone, leading his men to their fighters.

Luke was last out accompanied, as always, by Wedge Antilles. “Leia...”

Wedge nudged him in the ribs, pushed him closer to the princess and grinned. “I’ll see you out side, Luke.” He moved away, walking backwards to the exit as he made rude gestures behind the princess’ back.

Luke blushed, shrugged and smiled at her as he fiddled with the straps of his helmet. “He thinks we have a thing.”

Leia laughed, lightly. “A thing?” She echoed, teasing.

He shifted uncomfortably, cleared his throat, his colour deepening. “You know...” He offered, lamely.

She laughed at his discomfort, could almost believe that this was nothing more than a moment of light hearted banter, that Luke wasn’t about to leave on another mission that could see him as another statistic, another notch on the hull of a TIE fighter.

“Thanks,” he said, a little more solemnly. He turned for the door.

“For what?” She fell in at his side.

“Narra told me you spoke up for me. Got me reinstated.”

Leia wondered if Narra had mentioned Rhovan’s part in it. “It’s what you wanted.”

There was something in her tone that caught him. “You don’t sound too happy, though.”

They stepped from the building into the sunshine, into the organised chaos and noise of the squadron’s preparations for take-off. The ground beneath them trembled as the mountain belched more smoke. A soft breeze blew particles of ash around their ankles as they walked.

“Leia?” he prompted as they headed for his bird.

“Han’s not back yet,” she told him, avoiding his question. “I’m worried that the arms he’s been sent for will...”

Luke quietened. So that was it. Han. He quelled the tiny swell of jealousy that could still steal into moments like this. He had long ago come to terms with the fact that he and Leia would always only be close friends and put his more romantic feelings aside. “He’ll be fine, Leia.” He glanced over his X-Wing, noted Artoo was already in the droid socket. “He and Chewie always turn up.”

Han? Thought Leia. Why had she mentioned him? It was Luke she was worried about. It was Luke who was about to fly off on another dangerous mission because she had spoken out on his behalf and she brings Solo into the conversation? What was she thinking? What were these conflicting feelings she had for the two men in her life? She loved them both; she couldn’t deny it, but her feelings were unsure, convoluted and contradictory. Luke was kind and gentle, Han was rugged and coarse and she knew within herself that she had come to rely on them both. She loved them; she just wasn’t sure in what way she loved them.

“I know,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the growing din on the landing pad. She was sorry to have mentioned the Corellian, hoped that she hadn’t distracted Luke with her concerns. She reached up, laid her palm against his cheek. “May the Force be with you, Luke.” She stood on her tip toes and kissed him lightly on his other cheek.

“I’ll see you soon,” he told her earnestly as he jammed his helmet onto his head. He took hold of the ladder and climbed into his ship as Artoo whistled a greeting. “We’re all set, Artoo” he told the droid as he settled into the acceleration chair. “Set the power...” He paused, smiled and yelled down at Leia.  “Han’ll be back before we are!” He waved as the canopy closed.

The Princess found herself lifting a hand in reply as she moved away to the edge of the landing field, wondering about his last statement and how he could sound so sure about something he couldn’t possibly know.

_“It’s the kid’s Jedi thing,” Han had said waving his hand in the air. “Just go with it, humour him.”_

She smiled at her memory as Luke’s ship began to lift from the ground. As his landing struts folded beneath the ship and as it rose higher; the ash on the landing platform swirled up after the X-Wing in a cloud. He wangled his wings as he followed the squad into the air, banking away from the smoke that belched from the active volcano.  Her smile froze as a cloud covered the sun, a sudden chill shivered through her, and she suddenly had the urge to shout out after him, to stop him. She needed to say more to him, it was important to say more, to tell him to be careful, to take care, be safe, but what she whispered beneath the engine noise was unexpected.

“Come back.”

Something was wrong. Something she couldn’t place. Something that Luke...

 “Come back.” She whispered the words again as she tried to understand them, tried to identify where they had come from. The X-Wings disappeared into the clouds as the roar of their engines rolled and echoed down the mountainside drowning out the volcano’s own rumble.

 “He’ll be fine, Your Highness.”

Leia turned at the voice, saw the squad’s Chief Tech standing nearby, her face grimy and greasy, her hair tousled.

“You look worried. ‘Thinking about what happened his last mission, in case it happens again, right?” Ysabel told her, sure of her insight. “But Luke’ll be back, they all will.” It sounded like the Chief was trying to convince herself.

“I’m sure they will, Chief Jaconti.” She could hear the lie in her words and wondered if Ysabel could hear it, too. “Thank you.” Was that what was truly troubling her? Was it the events that had followed Luke after the Escaal mission that was causing this fear to gather in her belly? It made sense that she was scared for her friend, about how he would cope and respond after his trauma. That was it, that had to be it.

_“Come back...”_

The Chief’s eyes turned back to the empty sky and a quiet fell over the area. Leia moved away, started her journey back down through the base toward the command centre.

Now all they could do was wait.

ooOOoo

Vader drew in a breath of cool pressurized air; feeling it fill his lungs, feeling the pain of it, the burn. He exhaled, drew in another. He was still, deep in meditation, eyes closed within the darkness of his hyperbaric chamber, heart steeped in midnight black. The Force expanded before him as he moved with it, through it, became one with the dark side.

He could feel the fear and uncertainty of the thousands of refugees they had packed into the “relocation centre,” but their feelings were tempered by hope; a flickering light within the blackness and he moved on, moved away from the beckoning glow.

He could feel the anticipation of his crew, the unspoken fear of the fighter pilots as they waited for the word of the impending Rebel attack. He could sense the anxiety that settled low in the pits of their bellies.

He could feel the planet below as it shuddered in its death throes. The Force rippling and weaving around it as its animal and plant population moved swiftly toward extinction. It was a painful death, and silence would not fall upon it for several months yet.

Through all of this he could sense his master’s glee. This battle, this day, could see a shift in support for the Rebel Alliance, this day could see planets that rallied to their cause backing away in horror and they would be seen as terrorists and insurgents who had no regard for the sanctity of life. The Emperor’s carefully weaved deception was insidious and would draw the Rebels out like insects to a flame.

He drew the Force to him, wrapped it around himself like a cool blanket searching for the events to come, searching for the outcome of the approaching battle and finding...

_“Come back.”_

A young voice, a girl’s voice.

He frowned within his meditation. This was not the future, this was...

_“Come back.”_

A smell of heat, of smoke and ash. A noise, the rumble of unstable ground.

_“Come back! I love you!”_

He _was there. Standing in the ship’s hatch way. He was there, with her._

_“Liar!” The word was snarled, filled with rage and hatred.”You’re with him!”_

_“No!”_

His eyes snapped open.  The memories from the past fading slowly from his vision like an after image. Memories that should be long buried, but had recently been surfacing more and more to torment and taunt him with all he had lost. His friend, his love, his child all snatched away due to...

_...Your own actions..._

...the betrayal of the Jedi. The betrayal of his wife. The betrayal of...

_...Palpatine..._

...Obi-Wan.

_“You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you!”_

And still the Jedi turned his back and walked away as the flames arose to consume that brother. Still he took his brother’s wife and his child and turned his son against his father with lies and falsehoods.

_“I..won’t betray...the Alliance...as...you betrayed...my father.”_

Such brave words, gasped through an excruciating agony that would have felled more experience men. His son was strong, his spirit resilient, the Force was strong with him; a potency that Luke barely recognised. The boy had only made scant scratches on the surface of his powers, had still to fully accept and immerse himself in his abilities.

Vader smiled. And his father would be there when that day came, when Luke fully realised his potential. He felt it.

Luke would stand by his father’s side and...

_“Come back.”_

The whisper again. But not Padme, not a memory after all. He looked up into the darkness of his chamber trying to follow the feeling, wanting to pinpoint its meaning and...

_...an Income T-65 banking away from a cloud of black smoke. The sun winking off the canopy obscuring the pilot within, but not obscuring the man’s..._

_...the boy’s..._

_...feelings. He was determined, elated, fearful, his mind set on settling a score._

_Luke._

With a rush of understanding he deactivated the meditation chambers locks and his helmet lowered to enclose his head and re-establish his suit’s life support as the claws of the compartment split open. He turned the chair, activated the view screen.

Admiral Ozzel turned to face the optical feed. “Mi’Lord.”

“Admiral, sound General Quarters and move the cruisers beyond Cusrean. Have them maintain their position unless called for. Order the space station to man their batteries and see to it that the Executor’s are fully crewed. Launch one fighter attack wing, put the others on full alert and ready my own ship and Squadron.”

Ozzel took this in. “It shall be done, Mi’Lord, however we have no intelligence to suggest an attack is imminent and there is nothing on the scan...”

Vader fought his anger and frustration; one of these days Ozzel would go too far in his question of given orders. “The Rebel’s are coming, Admiral and we should be prepared.”

_My son is coming._

“Have the tractor beam readied. I want a prisoner.”

His son and his friends had fallen into the Emperor’s ruse. Luke and his friends were about to pull off a successful mission and the Galaxy would revile them for it. The one captured would suffer the consequences alone; Luke would have no choice but to denounce his friends and he would, at last, be released from the Rebellions leash and become his father’s son.

Ozzel bowed. “As you wi...”

Vader severed the connection.

ooOOoo

“Artoo, three minutes to reversion.” Luke pulled himself straighter, preparing himself for the X-Wing’s deceleration. His heart was hammering, his stomach lurching with anticipation and anxiety for the battle ahead but, as he reached for the controls, he was dismayed to see his hand shaking.

_“Bang out, Luke!”_

Wedge’s voice from the Escaal battle weeks ago, when he was shot down, when he had been captured and...

_“You gave us home, Luke. You told us about Wedge.”_

“Shit,” Luke cursed, curling his hand into a fist as Artoo twittered his concern.

 “I’ll be fine, Artoo,” Luke assured him, his voice gratefully steady. “Just some unwanted memories.”

_“You have allowed your fear to consume you, boy, but it is your anger and hatred that has sustained you thus far.”_

Luke heaved in a steadying breath, forcing Vader’s words from his mind. He needed to focus on the here and now, not on the past. He needed to concentrate on his target and not worry about anything else.

He closed his eyes, reaching for the centre of himself, seeking the calm he required. He could feel the pulse and thrum of the fighter’s engines, could hear their muted whine within the cockpit; could hear the ticking of the life support systems.

 He had missed this, missed the freedom the fighter gave him, the sheer joy of flight. He opened his eyes with a smile.

“Artoo, bring the weapons on line and arm the torpedoes.” They were coming out of hyperspace outside of the Cusrean system, out of the range of any scanners, but you never took any chances and he had, long ago, learned to come out of a jump “hot” and ready for any event.

“One minute, buddy,” he told the astromech. “Everything reads green. Thirty seconds.” He gripped the control column tightly, licked his lips.  “Okay, Artoo bring us out.”

The swirl of chaotic lights beyond the cockpit suddenly streaked into lines and fell away to far off pin points in the darkness. Luke immediately glanced to his right and was relieved to see Wedge appear at his starboard side. Antilles waggled his fingers at him as Narra ordered them to call in.

“Red Five, standing by,” Luke responded at his turn as Hobbie and Janson took up their places to his port side. Luke fell in behind Narra.

“Form up, lock S-foils in attack position,” Narra ordered as soon as all seventeen of his flight had called in. “We are going in hot Red flight and coming back out the same way. Accelerate to full attack speed and maintain comm silence until we reach the marker point. May the Force be with us.”

Luke felt his body press further into the chair as his fighter picked up speed.

_Luke, trust your feelings._

He smiled, feeling the warmth of the Force flood him with the echo of Obi-Wan’s voice. His heart rate slowed, the anxiety faded leaving only the shiver of anticipation in its wake as they approached Cusrean at high speed.

ooOOoo

“My Lord!” Ozzel’s hologram image crackled on the tiny communicator within the cockpit of the modified Advance TIE. “Scanners have picked up eighteen small snub fighters heading for us at high velocity. They will be here in less than five minutes, shall I...”

“Allow them to approach unchallenged. They must take the first shot before we respond.”

Ozzel bowed and the hologram faded. Vader toggled the comm and spoke with his squad. “Black Squadron, our objective is not to defend the station, or wipe out these rebels. That is for the attack wing. Our objective is simple; we are to locate, mark and isolate one of the rebel pilots. He is to be driven toward the Executor and brought on board, alive and unharmed.” The last words were stressed; Luke must not come to harm. His son would pay the price for his rebellion soon enough but not by any hands but his own, or his master’s.

“Prepare to launch on my mark,” Vader powered up the throttle of his fighter and eased the ship out of the Executor’s hangar bay.

ooOOoo

They were nearing the marker point; the planet Cusrean growing rapidly as they approached. Luke could see empty refitting and refuelling stations, he could see orbiting platforms circling the planet like dead star ships. His targeting computer pulsed as it searched for the Bio-Weapons facility, ringing out a tone as it locked. Luke could see it now, tendrils of durasteel sensors reaching claw like toward the planet it orbited. A repugnant structure with a repugnant purpose.

One capital ship, a Super Stardestroyer loomed far behind it, silhouetted against the dying planet. Vader’s ship.

His stomach twisted with anger, with satisfaction. He was about to deal a blow to the Dark Lord. Maybe not one as devastating as the Death Star, but a blow nonetheless. He was about to destroy another space station on Vader’s watch and...

Something wasn’t right.

The sudden knowledge was like a punch to the gut. Luke twisted around to visually scan the area, checked his scanners.

Where were the other two cruisers they had been warned to expect?

Where were all the TIEs?

Why was no-one shooting at them?

      This was wrong.

His feelings were screaming at him, he felt panicked, sick with no understanding of why.

Behind him Artoo twittered with concern, picking up his accelerating heart beat.

“Break, break, break,” Narra called, breaking comm silence at the given moment. “Hit ‘em hard and get out, Red Flight!”

They broke their formation heading unimpeded toward their weapon’s facility; Narra and his wing men for the shield generator; Luke, Wedge and Hobbie for the reactor, others for life support, hangars and gun emplacements.

“A couple of shots and she’s all yours, Luke,” Wedge sounded pumped.

Luke didn’t answer. This wasn’t right, this was all wrong.

_“Trust your feelings.”_

“Luke?” Wedge questioned, their target coming up fast. Too fast. “You with us?”

Luke was staring at the facility. It wasn’t the lack of defences that had his senses rattling, it wasn’t Vader’s ship that had yet to turn in their direction. It was the station itself. It didn’t feel malevolent. It didn’t feel like the Death Star. It felt... hopeful. It felt...

_Innocent._

“No!” He suddenly cried. “Commander this is a mistake. There’s something not right here!”

“What?” Narra shouted, He had the shield generator lined up, had armed his torpedos, had his finger on the trigger. He was bothered by the lack of defences, but had hoped they had merely caught them by surprise. “What the hell, Skywalker?”

“The station’s not the danger here,” Luke cried, trying to get a grip on his feelings, trying to figure out what the Force was telling him. His target was lined up, he had seconds before Wedge and Hobbie took their shots on the shielding, before he was to kill the facility.

Narra hesitated for a micro second. He fingered his trigger and his proton torpedoes were away. He pulled the X-Wing into a turn, heading away as his shots struck the station. They hit, exploded and the station visibly rocked.

Hobbie and Wedge followed suit; their quad guns blazing a trail through shielding for Luke to plant his torpedoes in the reactor. The whoops and yells of the pilots crackled through the comm.

“Pay back’s a bitch!”

“This one’s for Ra’iamar!”

The station was pounded, sensor arrays broke off, spun away. The hull buckled, air and beings blown into vacuum.

Luke cried out, pained. His emotions battered. He pressed hard on the pedals rolling the X-Wing, pitching it away from the station.

“Skywalker!” Narra’s voice screamed in his ears. “What the frig...”

“TIEs!” Someone cried.

“We’ve got bogies, coming in point five-oh, twelve of them. Looks like Interceptors.” Wedge advised.

“Shit! Shit!” Someone cursed. “More coming in point two. A lot!”

Luke scanned his scopes, eyeballed the enemy. “It’s an attack wing! This was a trap!” He brought his ship around to face a wave of approaching enemy. They were still out of range but approaching fast.

“We’ve still got a job to do here,” Narra reminded them, tightly. “Red Five take another run at the station, Two and Four back him up.”  The station’s batteries opened fire, rocking Narra’s shielding. “Shit,” he cursed, peeling away. “Shields down by ten percent!”

“Sir!” Luke protested even as he brought his fighter back around with Wedge and Hobbie by his sides. “The station’s not...”

“That a Gods-be-damned order, Skywalker!”

An order. He knew he was endangering the squad. The TIEs were almost upon them and still he stayed his hands, still he disobeyed and took a risk of another hearing.

_“Any repeat of the offense will result in a full formal hearing under military law.”_

He was conflicted, torn. Everything about this was wrong. The space station wasn’t the threat they had been lead to believe it was. It was merely the bait, it was the catalyst that brought them here. It...

_“We will speak at length, young one.”_

Vader’s presence washed over him like a cold wave, chilling him to the core.  

ooOOoo

The Dark Lord opened his fighter’s engines to full throttle, barrelling the ship toward the attacking rebels who were now caught between the approaching wave of TIE fighters, his own squadron and the stations own guns.

 “Hold fire,” he told his squadron. “I will mark the one we want.”

He checked his scopes and was pleased to see the Executor begin to turn toward the battle. Now to find his son.

ooOOoo

“Luke! Wake up!” Wedge was screaming at him. “We’re gonna get pulverized!”

Antilles ship spun away, evading streaks of green energy. Luke’s own ship rocked under a barrage from the station. Artoo shrieked from the droid socket. He pulled to port, spun, levelled his ship and flew straight through a field of TIE fighters, guns blazing.

There was an agonized screech over the comm.

“We’ve lost Twelve, we’ve lost Triani.”

“There’s one on my tail! Help me! Help me! Ah.....”

“They’re all over me!”

Luke threw up his helmet’s blast shield, pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, heaved in a steadying breath as he struggled with the emotions, the hammering of the Force against his feelings telling him one thing, while his sense of duty and loyalty told him another.

These were his friends who were dying.

_Trust your feelings._

“The Destroyer’s moving in!” Janson was sounding panicked. “Red six, one on your tail!”

“Where? I can’t see... I can’t...”

Another flare. Another death.

“Luke! Interceptor on your back!” Wedge called.

“Shit,” he batted the blast shield down, pulled the control level sharply and threw the ship into evasive manoeuvres. The enemy ship followed him, but didn’t fire upon him.

He knew it was Vader.

ooOOoo

Vader wrenched his own controls, following the X-Wing in a tight spin. The two ships weaved a patterned through the melee, dodging pieces broken off from the damaged station, darting through the conflagration of the battle.

His son’s reflexes were quick, precise, his movements enhanced by his Force abilities. He was a talented pilot as Vader had discovered over the Death Star almost two years before.

He was his father’s son in many ways.

The boy was conflicted. Luke had sensed that there was something amiss with the station, had realised that this was an elaborate ruse and yet there was a part of him that wanted to take the shot, to destroy the station so that they could get out, get away before more of his friends died.

Vader’s targeting computer locked, he fingered the trigger and sent a torpedo speeding after his son’s fighter.

“Ozzel, send another attack wing and bring the cruisers around.”

ooOOoo

“He’s got a lock!” Luke cried, pushing the column forward and down taking the fighter into a dive. “Wedge, I...”

The Interceptor peeled away as Luke’s scanners picked up the torpedo heading his way.

“Artoo! Counter measures!”

He blasted a TIE that strayed into his path.  Turned and tried to see behind, spotting the chasing weapon. “Shit!”

Artoo released the counter measures as Luke wrestled with the controls, throwing the X-Wing into wild loops and rolls as he tried to shake off the missile. It flew straight through the debris Artoo had released, gaining ground on the speeding ship.

“Hold on tight, Artoo!” Luke braced himself, closed his eyes as the missile struck. His fighter was shunted forward, his harness catching him with bruising impact. He cried out, “I’m hit, I’m hit...”

ooOOoo

Vader felt Luke’s panic, caught the flaring terror as the missile struck the ship and exploded driving the tracker into the hull of the X-Wing.

He checked his scopes, saw the blip appear on the screen.

“We have our target.”

ooOOoo

“What the hell?” Luke shouted in disbelief. “Artoo, damage report?” He glanced at the screen as Artoo whistled in reply, taking note of the damage to the shields, the small hole in the hull. There was nothing too urgent.

“Luke, are you all right?” Wedge wanted to know.

“I’m fine, I... must have been a dud.”

He was confused, relieved, but it was there; a warning in the Force.

“Where is he? Where’d he go?” He twisted around in his chair trying to see, one wing clipping debris and taking out one of his quad guns. The X-Wing rocked as he diverted power to his other weapons and shut down the damaged gun.“Wedge, Janson do you see Vader?”

“Vader?” the comm crackled as Antilles spoke. “How’d you know...”

“Another wave!” Narra warned. “We have more TIEs incoming.”

“Shit!” Luke breathed again, this was impossible. The odds against them grew by the minute, their situation was desperate and still the Cusrean Weapon’s facility orbited the planet, damaged but not destroyed.

Because of him.

Because he had hesitated when he should have taken the shot.

He was Squad second; these were his men dying.

His friends.

_No, Luke..._

“Antilles, take out the reactor,” Narra barked in his ear, the commander sounded furious, disappointed, desperate. “Skywalker bug out and return to base.”

 Humiliation burned, anger knotted within; he knew what he would face once back home. Narra thought he had frozen; thought he was incompetent. The whole squad knew what was happening and how he had let them down and allowed them to die.

 No matter what the station held...

_...innocence..._

_..._  it was Imperial. It was Vader’s and he was still out here somewhere. It was time to humble the Dark Lord.

It was time to prove to the Alliance that he was still a pilot to be relied upon.

It was time to follow his orders by disobeying that last one.

Decision made; Luke brought his X-Wing back around, brought his remaining quad guns to bear and shot a path through the enemy ships. “Negative, Commander, I’m fine. I can do this.” His voice was calm, even.

“Wedge, Hobbie, form up. Let’s do this and go home.”

_Luke, no!_

ooOOoo

Vader felt the stirring in the Force. Felt the darkness sing.

He could see the three X-Wings join formation, could see his son’s ship take the lead.

“Let them through,” he ordered all fighters. The station was to be destroyed. Let his son step onto the midnight path, let him feel the power and the passion of the Dark Side.

ooOOoo

Palpatine held up one bony finger effectively silencing his advisor. He glanced up, looked inward, his mind reaching into the Force and he smiled at what he found.

The father...

...and the son.

And the Dark Side embracing them both.

ooOOoo

Luke threw aside the echo in the Force as he watched his HUD, concentrating on evading the fireworks coming his way. He drew the Force closer, ignored the wrongness in it, focused only on the target before him and closed his eyes. He thumbed the triggered, fired the missiles and pulled up and away as they struck.

“Yeeeha!!” Wedge shrieked. “Direct hit, Luke! Welcome back!”

Luke looped around, saw the fires, saw the flames engulf the structure, saw the station explode, grimaced as the deaths of those on board sliced through the Force. He gasped, stifled a cry at the hammering emotion. The feelings winked out as suddenly as they arose and then he grinned, laughed. He’d done it!

“Okay, Red Squad, time to run!” Narra advised, relief clear in voice.

The remaining X-Wings cut off from the battle all heading for the edge of the solar system and open space from which to jump.

“They’re chasing us,” Hobbie observed, trying to sound calm as his aft shields took a hit. His craft bounced.

“Ya think?” Wedge responded tightly, wrenching his control column and pressing as hard on the foot pedals spinning his ship to evade more fire.

“More coming in from...”

“I see them,” Narra responded. “Red Five, they’re heading your way.”

Luke banked, allowed the blasts to pass under him. The Interceptor fighters followed, cutting through Red Squad as Luke attempted to come back around. The Imperial squad broke up, coming at Luke from different directions effectively surrounding him.

“Shit! They’re on me!”

Wedge checked his scopes. “That Destroyer’s getting awfully close,” he noted. He frowned at a strange signal, visually checked its source as his fighter shuddered under fire. He followed after one of the Interceptors, blew it away. “Luke, you’re transmitting something.”

“What?” Luke rasped as another Interceptor fell in behind him. Movement caught his eye as an Imperial fighter drew up on his port and starboard sides. Yet another above and below. “What are they doing?”

But he knew. He’d been tagged and they were driving him toward the approaching capital ship and its tractor beam.

“Luke!” Wedge called as he was cut off from his friend, as the second attack wave of TIE fighters opened fire on the Red Squad survivors. “Friggin, hell, Luke!”

“Just go!” Luke told him, desperately. “Commander, I’ll see you all back at base.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Antilles told him. “Not this time.”

Narra broke in. “Break and run Reds, that include you Wedge! Skywalker make sure you have that bug off before coming home.”

“I hear you!” He banked to port, scrapping his foil against the nearest Interceptor. A warning burst of fire from behind carbon scored his wing. “Artoo, get that damned thing off my ship!”

“I’ll keep a beer warm for you, Luke.”

“Thanks, Wedge.” He was grateful for their sentiments but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be alcohol that would be running through his veins in the next few hours if he couldn’t get himself and Artoo out of this.  “Artoo, we don’t have much time, can you reach it?” He fought to keep calm, fought to keep the panic at bay, knowing that to lose his wits now would see him back in an Imperial cell. He licked dry lips as he regarded the looming Super Star Destroyer.

Artoo blooped, whistled his concern as he rose up and out of the droid socket, magnetising his treads to the hull of the X-Wing as he trundled across the back of the ship towards the small hole.

“I know, I know. I’ll fly careful just watch yourself.”

A whisper of a warning in the Force and he pushed the control column forward, down and scraped his belly off the top of the Interceptor below him. Green laser fire lit up the canopy above him. “Artoo! You okay?”

A muted raspberry cheered him.

“Okay, just make it quick and get back in the socket. We’re cutting this fine.” He drew in a deep breath, fighting to keep his composure, trying to keep his mind centred. He reached for the Force and found...

...nothing...

...an empty expanse...

...nothing, no feeling of power or strength.

Another deep breath. “Come on, don’t leave me now,” he whispered to the Force. He reached out again...

ooOOoo

“The tractor beam is ready, Mi’Lord, he will be in range in moments,” Ozzel assured Vader as he trailed behind the bobbing X-Wing. It couldn’t manoeuvre far, its movements restricted by the herding actions of Black Squadron. Soon, his son would be in his grasp. Soon Luke would learn the lessons of his actions and he...

Vader frowned, leaned forward for a better view of the X-Wing. The droid was lifting out of the socket and moving along the back of the ship. He smiled, Luke was trying to remove the tracker. It was too late for that; his was the only Rebel ship left and an easy target now the battle had ended.

He fired off a shot toward the astrodroid and Luke’s ship suddenly dropped as the boy anticipated the blast, protecting the little machine.

Interesting, that Luke should be so protective of a droid.

_“We got ‘em, Artoo.”_

Wasn’t he once the same? Didn’t he once have a droid who rarely left his side.

Artoo Detoo. A machine he had modified over the years after being gifted him by...

No, he would not think her name. He would not recall those events.             

He watched the droid on Luke’s ship as a grasping claw reached out and probed a hole on the aft fuselage, watched as the tracker was pick up and let go to spin away and bounce off his own ship.

The little blue droid in the elevator on Escaal. The droid that had tapped into the detention centre systems and killed the power as he assisted the Primary Interrogator, Rhovan, rescue his young master, was now working its way back to the droid socket. It was unmistakably Artoo Detoo.

Vader couldn’t help himself. He smiled, intrigued at how the astrodroid had survived the years since the last time he had seen him.

_“Artoo, stay with the ship.”_

Mustafar.

_“You were my brother, Anakin!”_

The Dark Lord growled low in his throat, angry at allowing the droid to distract him, allowing his mind to wander when he should be focusing on getting his errant son on board the Executor and into custody. He drew his attention and concentration to the pilot in the craft in front of him and opened himself to the Force, opened and felt for his son’s unique presence.

The boy was struggling to find his focus; his awareness of the Force muted and subdued, beginning to wane and...

He yelled. “No!” As he realised what Luke was about to do and what his mistake had been.

Even if the boy had shot it down, he should have had a ship in front of the X-Wing.

“Ozzel now!” he roared, opening fire on his son’s ship. “Disable him!”

ooOOoo

Artoo whistled behind him and Luke gunned his engines, pushing the X-Wing to its limits. He accelerated toward the Destroyer and way from the cordon of Interceptors as a flash of laser fire burst beside his canopy. He dived, twisted, was pressed into his seat by powerful g-forces. He brought his ship down the sheer side of the destroyer and under its vast belly.

He emerged on the other side.

“Artoo, programme the jump.”

He received a whistled warning.

“I know we’re inside the system, compensate for it.”

His X-Wing rocked, his shields pummelled, as he pointed it at open space, spun and pitched to avoid the barrage of laser fire.

“Artoo!” He yelled.

The X-Wing winked into hyperspace with green streaks of light following in its wake.

ooOOoo

“My... Lord,” Ozzel was stuttering over the com. “We... we couldn’t get a lock. The sudden velocity of the...”

Vader shut the comm off.

He stared at the spot where Luke had disappeared. The boy had taken a risk with the jump so close to the system but it was something he had done himself in his youth; executed an escape at the last possible moment, fought against impossible odds and still emerged victorious.

He banked his fighter, turned it back to the Executor and saw the burning, blasted wreckage of the refugee centre. Luke would not feel so jubilant when word reached him that he had just murdered civilians; men, women and children whose only crime was to believe Palpatine’s promises of relocation and re-settlement.

The boy’s grief and anguish could only serve to drive him further into darkness where his father would be waiting to welcome him.

ooOOoo


	7. A Legitimate Target - Part Two

 

** A Legitimate Target **

** Part Two **

 

It was night and the landing pad was brightly lit. The Princess Leia shielded her eyes from the glare as she looked up and watched the familiar saucer-shaped freighter descend out of the darkness. There was new carbon scoring on the underbelly of the Millennium Falcon and Leia couldn’t help wondering what Han had gotten himself into, and out of, this time.

The Falcon’s landing struts settled gently into the dirt and ash, the ramp already lowering slowly to the ground.

The Princess waited.  Solo appeared, stripping off his gloves as he walked down the ramp. The mountain above them rumbled and Solo scowled at it. Then he spotted Leia waiting with the ground crew beside the speeders, and he grinned.

“Hey! Your worship! There was no need for the welcoming committee!”

“I was merely worried about your cargo, Captain,” she told him as she walked forward. The ground crew followed and Solo waved them on board to unload the ship.

“Sure you were,” he told her ducking down to look under his ship. “Hey, Chewie?”

Chewbacca had to bend forward to get down the ramp and Leia wondered how many times the Wookiee had hit his head before the ducking down had become automatic. He chuffed a greeting at her as he peered under the ship with Solo.

“It’s not that bad this time,” the Corellian told him. “We just need to replace a couple of the hull plates.”

The Wookiee growled, half howled.

“I know, I know,” Solo told him straightening up. He looked at the Princess smiling. “That can be part of the payment, right?”

 “What happened this time?” Leia avoided with a smile. Now that Solo was back safely, she was beginning to relax, some of her concern fading. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Han was blasé.

“Bounty hunter?”

“Ex-Bounty hunter,” Solo corrected with another smile. “All in a day’s work for the Rebellion, right Chewie?”

Again the Wookiee barked, nodding good naturedly.

“That’s the ‘Alliance’, Captain,” Leia corrected.

Han stood beside her, watching the weapons being unloaded. “Alliance, Rebellion, same thing.”

Leia gritted her teeth in frustration, determined not to bite this time. She was too worried about Luke to get into an argument with Solo. “Did you bring Threepio back?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved toward the ship. “I turned him off. He’s in the passenger compartment. Next time, give me a different translator droid or I swear I’ll have Chewie rewire him.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Leia told him, smiling.

Han was looking around the landing pad and across at the empty hangars. “And the hull plating?” he asked, distractedly, frowning as he saw the fighter techs sitting around, checking their chronos and watching the sky.

“That, too,” Leia assured him, knowing what he was about to ask.

“What’s going on?” He gestured to the lounging technicians, noting the day-shift workers mixed with the night-shift, sensing the uneasy tension. “I know we’re late but the kid’s normally here to meet us. He’s not been sleeping that great lately.”

Leia’s face darkened, her brows creasing with disquiet. “They’re on an operation,” she told him. “Luke’s with them.”

Solo grinned again. “Hey, the kid passed his last psych exam! That’s gre...”

Leia shook her head. “No, no he didn’t...” Her frown deepened. The more she thought about the mission, the more it troubled her.

_“The Command ship is Vader’s.”_

Rhovan’s statement from the meeting echoed in her mind. There was something about the look that passed between Rhovan and Mon Mothma; something about Luke. Something about Luke and Darth Vader.

She shuddered; forced the image of the man from her mind, forced herself not to see him, not to see the spherical droid as it closed it on her.

“Leia,” Solo used her given name, an indication that the joking was over. “Why would you let Luke go out when he wasn’t ready?”

She felt her hackles rise to this. “It’s what he wanted, Han! What he said he needed and...”

She felt herself colour under his gaze. Now she was even more unsure that she had done the right thing by speaking up for Luke. “... it’s a major operation, Han. A big target.”

Solo nodded slowly as though he understood. “Uh-Huh… So, you needed another pilot in a bird and he was the only one sitting around.”

“No,” she denied, loudly, aware of heads turning in their direction.

Shaking her head, she walked away, heading down the illuminated forest road toward the main buildings. Solo fell in beside her.

“It wasn’t like that!” she told him, but she felt like she was trying to convince herself, as well as Han. “You’ve seen him, Han. You know what he’s been like lately. He wanted to fly, he wanted to get back up there.” She smiled, recalling Luke’s delight as he climbed into the X-Wing. “You should have seen him. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him so happy.”

Solo swallowed his anger, knowing that Luke had been antsy and unhappy at being grounded for so long. Maybe this would be good for him: but he wasn’t convinced. There was something about Leia’s tone and demeanour that left him uneasy. “So what’s the problem.”

She sighed. How to explain? How to put into words the feeling that had come over her as Luke had left? “I... have a bad feeling about this one.”

Solo chuckled. “That’s the kid’s line.”

“You use it, too,” she teased.

Han nodded, grinning in spite of conversation; in spite of the gnaw of apprehension that was settling in his gut. “It has a certain ring to it. Sums up just about everything that can go wrong.”

Leia sobered. “It’s an important mission, Han. A big one. They’re up against overwhelming odds.” She recalled Rhovan’s statistics from the earlier meeting.

“Oh,” Han responded, trying to keep it light. “You had me worried there for a moment. I thought you were going to say insurmountable odds.”

Leia was quiet. The only noise was their footsteps on the path, the chirping of nocturnal insects in the air and the leaves of the trees around them rustling in the breeze.

“Hey,” he chided, gently, realising that Leia was truly apprehensive: and about Luke this time, not her beloved Alliance. His disquiet turned to disappointment: had something happened between the two of them while he was away with Chewie? Had Luke and Leia’s friendship deepened and become the relationship that was the rumour of the base?

_And why the hell would he care anyway?_

“I was joking. Luke’ll be fine. He’s a helluva pilot.”

The princess nodded. “I know, but I can’t help it.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Han admitted, then couldn’t help adding, “He’s like a brother to me, too.”

_Brother..._

Leia smiled at the word, liking the sound of it, the feel of it. The Corellian was probably the best big brother Luke could have, although she would completely deny it if anyone ever asked and would certainly never offer the observation to the younger pilot.

They stepped to the side of the road as the speeders and lifters carrying Han’s cargo passed them on the way to the base stores. They walked in silence through the large compound of durasteel prefabricated buildings and tents. It looked like what it was: a hastily erected encampment that was designed to be dismantled as quickly as it had been put up. If he was forced to live below that volcano he’d want to be able to pack up fast, too.

However, he knew it was not the mountain that the rebels feared.

“Ya’ know that rock’s gonna blow don’t you?” he asked, looking back up at the rumbling volcano.

Leia smiled. Han refused to admit it worried him, but his face always lit up when offered another job by the Alliance that would take him away from Adralii for a few days. “We have been assured that a full scale eruption is unlikely at this point.”

“Unlikely, huh? That fills me with confidence,” he remarked as they made their way through the base, heading for the command centre.

“Scared, Captain?” Leia teased.

 “Just don’t like all that ash,” Han explained, avoiding her question as a shout echoed from behind them. Distracted by more yelling from behind them, he turned as he went on, “It clogs up the Falcon’s filters and...”

Rebel personnel were running to the canteen, a lot of them, and several were still in their night attire. “Hey, what’s going on over there?”

Frowning, Leia glanced over as her comm sounded. She answered, “Organa.”

“Your Highness,” Rieekan sounded tense, terse. “You’d better get back to command. We may have a situation.”

The mission. The attack. It could be nothing else. She had known all along that something wasn’t right. “I’ll be right there.”

Han heard the tension in her voice. “I’ll come with you.”

ooOOoo

Rhovan keyed the comm again: again there was no answer. He cursed, and tried once more. He turned to Ehlen Anders. “I can’t raise him.”

“Shit!” she cursed, turning to Rieekan. “We can’t confirm anything at this time, sir.”

“There may be a communications black-out, General,” Rhovan told him, avoiding calling Rieekan _Sir_. “If the comm relays are...”

 “That is not a communications blackout, Major,” Rieekan raged, gesturing at the holonet screen behind him, at the images and sounds, glaring in their rawness. Bodies floated in space: charred and mutilated. “This is a gods-be-damned disaster!”

“It’s a PR stunt, Sir,” Ehlan tried to placate him. “Our information was sound, verified. Cusrean was developing...”

“I know what the information was, Major Anders, and I know who it came through.” He glared at Rhovan. “What we need now is clarification and...”

“General! Sir!” a voice called. “It’s the Emperor.”

All heads turned to the holonet and, as the door opened to admit the Princess Leia Organa and Han Solo, the room fell silent.

“My fellow citizens of this glorious Empire,” Palpatine started, his face partially concealed by the hood of his robes. “Today has seen an outrageous and cowardly attack on our society’s most vulnerable. I can confirm that the Cusrean Refugee Relocation Centre has been completely destroyed by a Rebel attack only a few hours ago. There were no survivors. ”

The Emperor’s voice sounded deeply wounded. Someone in the room scoffed and swore. “Lying, black-hearted bastard.”

Leia worked her way forward to stand by the General her eyes fixed on the screen, her heart in her throat. “He’s got to be lying,” she said, softly.

“Rebel Incom T-65 fighters attacked the unarmed orbiting station,” the Emperor continued. “Our forces engaged them but, despite a valiant effort and the loss of many Imperial lives, the station’s shielding was penetrated and the reactor exploded by a proton torpedo.” He paused, clasping his hands low in front of him and lowering his head as though in prayer. Then he looked up. “Be assured, we will not rest until we have identified the perpetrators of this spineless attack and brought them to justice. I have already relayed orders to Lord Vader to begin his search for these terrorists and I have every confidence that he will be successful in identifying them and hunting them down.”

The screen faded to black for a moment, then brightened on the face of a holonews reader. She was young, pretty, human. “The Emperor’s statement on today’s attack shows a strengthened resolve to defeat the insurgency that has brought chaos to the peace of the Empire. Today, the people of Cusrean mourn thousands of their citizens who were killed in an act of unprovoked aggression by the Rebel Alliance.”

She pressed a hand to her ear. “Wait... I believe we can... Yes, we have a recording from the battle itself. I warn that the footage we are about to show may be distressing and we recommend viewer discretion.”

The picture changed to recorded images of the battle, taken and edited from TIE fighter holo-cameras. Those in room watched the scene play out; watched as X-Wings loosed fire upon a station that did not initially shoot at them; watched as a swarm of Imperial fighters engaged and decimated the number of Rebel fighters in furious dogfights.

“Friggin’ hell,” Han breathed behind Leia. “Luke was there?”

Mutely, the Princess nodded as she watched the event unfold. Three X-Wings formed up and dove for the station again, missiles shot forward and the facility exploded. The pictures changed to the aftermath that had already been shown; the debris and the bodies floating in space.

Rieekan turned from the screen. “This is a mess,” he breathed. “Even if it is untrue.”

“We need a new statement,” Leia told him. “We need to go live with a counter claim. Show the evidence that we have about the weapons development.”

Rieekan raked a hand through his dark hair. “We can’t do that without more information on the attack and Rhovan can’t raise his contact in the Spynet.”

Leia glanced at the man sitting at the comm unit talking urgently with Majors Ander. It looked like they were arguing. His face was dark: Ehlen’s was blushed with anger.

“When are Red Flight due back?” Leia asked Rieekan.

_Is Luke alright? Did he make it out?_

The General checked his chrono. “They should make planet fall at oh-three hundred. We still have another hour.”

_Is it that time already? So late at night and yet so early in the day._

Leia rubbed at her temples, trying to think, suddenly terribly tired: suddenly realising that night had passed and morning had come without her realising it. “We need to know before they come back. They need to hear the truth from us and not be left with any doubts about the legitimacy of the target.”

“Do we know who took the shot?” Han asked. He laid a hand on Leia’s shoulder giving comfort and understanding. He knew the princess was thinking about Luke; not just wondering if he had survived the carnage, but what his reaction to the civilian deaths would be. The kid had been on shaky ground since returning from Escaal, had developed an edge, a sharpness that hadn’t existed before and, although even Han could see he was recovering, this was something that would trip Luke up and send him back to the Alliance head-shrinkers.

Rieekan looked pained. “Narra planned on giving that privilege to Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker. He thought it would be good for him, give him the chance to settle a score with Empire.” He looked back at the holonet screen as the battle replayed. “Can we get an ID on that fighter?” He asked.

The scene zoomed in as the operator worked. The X-Wings blurred as the torpedoes were fired then refocused and paused in flight. New data flooded the neighbouring screen as the X-Wing assignments were checked next to the markings on the stilled fighters. “It was Skywalker,” the young woman announced.

“Dammit,” Solo cursed.

Leia lowered her head, closed her eyes.

_Luke..._

 “General?”  Ehlen Anders interrupted. She looked pale, drawn: sick.

“We had to go through different channels. Major Rhovan’s contact is dead…  But… we have confirmation, Sir. The weapons facility was decommissioned some months ago. The station was recently refitted to house refugees from Cusrean….”

Rieekan’s jaw tightened. “Why are we only getting this information now?”

“It was a set up,” Rhovan told him from the comm unit. “The intelligence wasn’t available before. The Empire set us up for this and we walked right into the trap.”

“How many?” Leia asked quiety. “How many did we kill?”

“Leia,” Han warned. “This doesn’t...”

“How many?” she persisted, her voice sharp.

“Early counts say twenty thousand,” Rhovan told her.

She closed her eyes again. “We have no reply for this, General. There is nothing that we can say to the Galaxy about this.”

Rhovan rose and stepped forward. “They must have discovered my contact, fed him that information before taking him out. If we can prove that, if we can prove they filled that station with civilians on purpose, to bait us, then we have something to say. This is not the Alliance’s fault.”

Leia turned, as did Rieekan. The Intel Officer seemed rattled, off balance. It seemed peculiar for the normally self assured man. Perhaps, Leia considered, Rhovan had a conscience after all.

“Can you prove it?” Rieekan asked. He glanced to Anders who shook her head.

“It’s unlikely we can trace a trail that deep within the Empire. The orders had to come from the Emperor himself. If we were to try, if we were to dig, we stand the chance of losing more operatives, some of whom are entrenched within the Empire as the Major here was.”

“I was not your operative, Anders,” Rhovan told her sourly. “I was...”

She turned on him. “I know what you were, Rhovan. I know what you did...”

“Enough!” Rieekan barked, glancing at Solo, a civilian who really shouldn’t be standing in the command centre overhearing everything. “This is neither the time nor the place for this. We have a squad returning to this base who have lost comrades. They will be tired, wired and they need to know the truth, even if it is unpleasant.”

“I’ll come with you, General,” Leia told him. She wanted to see Luke: needed to see Luke.

“I’ll join you,” Rhovan volunteered.

Rieekan turned on him. “No! After today, those pilots will be looking for blood and the last person Skywalker needs to see is you. No, you’ll stay away. Major Anders and I will do this.”

Han looked between Rieekan and Rhovan. What had Rieekan meant by that last statement? Hadn’t Rhovan been the one who had rescued Luke?

“Leia,” he began, drawing his eyes away from Rhovan, “I’ll be with the Falcon if Luke…”

_If Luke was what? Dead? Injured? Needed him?_ No matter what, he would be on that landing field waiting for the kid.

 “Thank you, Han,” Leia acknowledged then turned back to Rieekan. He was looking at the holonet as it replayed the scenes. He looked tired, defeated.

The General turned, addressing them all, “I suggest you all get some rest for the next hour. I shall wake Mon Mothma and brief her. Your Highness,” he bowed his head to her. “I’ll meet with you at the landing field.”

Leia nodded assent, knowing that she would not rest, nor sleep, until Luke was home. She felt Solo’s arm fall across her shoulder, felt him steer her away and for once was grateful for his presence.

“Come on, your worship, you can have a Kaffin with Chewie and me on the Falcon.”

She didn’t argue.

ooOOoo

Rhovan stood just inside the doorway of his quarters; a small enclosed space that he, ironically, thought was only just slightly larger than the holding cells on Escaal and just as bland and bare. He loosened the collar of his Alliance uniform and laid the back of his head against the cool surface of the door. He took a long breath, exhaling slowly as he tried to calm his grief for his young Bothan contact in the Spynet.

Another of his own dead.

Too many dead; Isla, Taln and the Force knew how many others on Escaal in the Empire’s mop up of the Network; the Gran in the cafe, Deni’ik, the red headed medic that Skywalker had desperately identified. He grimaced; he had managed to give Deni’ik some breathing space, had managed to convince Aryn that Skywalker was playing them, playing for time and trying to distract their attention. However, he knew that the medic would have been the first person that Aryn would arrest in the aftermath of his and Skywalker’s escape.

His people were dying and he was stuck here, in the Alliance, unable to get back out there and work from inside the Empire itself.

And he cursed the day he asked the Alliance for help in taking out the Escaal munitions factory, cursed the agreement to help any pilots shot down in the raid, cursed the day he met Luke Skywalker and saved his life.

_The son of Darth Vader._

He smiled, shook his head, incredulous.

_I saved Darth Vader’s son!_

Not that it would win him any favours from the Dark Lord should they ever meet again. He had a feeling that Vader would not forgive him for taking Luke from him, and that the best he could hope for would be a swift execution.

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bunk. He missed his apartment, the luxury and privacy of it, the bottle of Cairan Maohr red that he had purchased and left unopened in the wine rack.

He missed Taln; missed their talks, their scheming and planning of ways to disrupt the functioning of the Empire on Escaal. He missed the camaraderie of the Network; the danger of it all.

Here he was just a desk jockey, an Intelligence Officer who scrutinised and analysed information that those out in the field risked life and limb to get.

A desk jockey with a dual purpose...

_...Triple...._

...he was also to watch the son of Vader. Watch that the boy didn’t get too close to his father, that he showed no signs of defecting, of betraying those who had welcomed him and gave him a home.

_“Luke has... a knack for instilling loyalty in many, not just in droids.”_

The Princess’s words were interesting and not just because she was Skywalker’s unknowing sister; he had seen that loyalty for himself in the pilot, Wedge, who flew with him. In Narra, his commanding officer.  In the sergeant who had been badly injured on Ra’imar while helping him evade Vader and his troops...

_But not the infantryman, not the grunt; whose loyalty had been to his sergeant._

...In Taln on Escaal when he had hesitated at the order to kill the youth, when he had so obviously failed to carry that order out and now he was dead because of it.

How many more were to die, or be maimed, because of Luke Skywalker?

Over a million on the Death Star, twenty thousand over Cusrean, many hundreds on Escaal and Ra’imar. There was no doubt; directly, or indirectly, Luke Skywalker was responsible for all of these deaths and he had to wonder if the youth knew that his hands dripped with blood.

_Just like his father._

Just like Vader. Like Anakin Skywalker; the Jedi hero with no fear, who wreaked havoc on the galaxy during the Clone Wars and beyond.

His comlink chirped, drawing him from his thoughts, and he fished it out of his pocket. “Rhovan.”

“Rieekan has briefed me,” Mon Mothma told him without preamble. “You are to join him at the squad debriefing.”

His brow creased. “Carlist was clear that I was not to...”

“I have countermanded that,” Mothma informed him, her tone sharp, tight. “We may have made a mistake sending Skywalker with them.”

“We agreed that should an opportunity arise that would allow us to assess Vader’s interest in...”

“I am aware of that, Rhovan. But it may have been too soon, I have no real wish to send Skywalker into his father’s arms.” She hissed with sudden realisation. “Is this comm secure?”

“Yes, Mi’Lady,” he couldn’t help but smile at her slip. “Any communications from your office to me is automatically encrypted.” He has set up the system himself.

Her sigh was audible over the comlink. “You are to be with Rieekan, Erwin. I need you to feedback on Skywalker once he returns.”

“ _If_ he returns,” Rhovan told her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, quickly and he knew what she was thinking; that Luke had been captured already. That all of this was for nothing and that Vader already had possession of his son.

“He may have been killed in action.”

Considering his previous thoughts he almost wished his statement could be true; it would save him the job and the galaxy a lot less blood.

“Is that a possibility?” Mothma’s voice sounded guarded.

Rhovan shrugged, he had been told the boy was a talented and instinctive pilot but the battle over Cusrean had been vicious, that much was evident even from the heavily edited version that had been shown on the holonet.

“I think we’ll be lucky to get a quarter of the squad back,” he told her. “So, yes, it’s a possibility even for someone with his abilities.”

There was a moment of silence. “I may be concerned about him, Major, I may have to give you the order to kill him should he prove to be a threat to the Alliance, but...” There was a sigh. “He is Padme’s son and I want no real harm to come to him.”

Rhovan stayed mute, understanding the conflict Mon Mothma was feeling. It was something he wrestled with during his tenure with the Network. He had been the Resistance Commander, he had also been the senior Imperial Interrogator and he had killed friends and comrades to keep their information out of Imperial hands.

 “You will be at the de-brief, Rhovan.”

“As you wish, Mi’lady.”

He switched the comlink off and placed it back in his pocket. Then he stood, fastened his collar and tugged his tunic down; ready for duty.

ooOOoo

The sun was just beginning to rise over the Adralii mountain tops, strands of light were trickling through the vista and the sky began to lighten with pink and blue hues. It was quiet, despite the number of people gathered at the landing zone, each being tending to their own private thoughts and fears as they waited for Red Flight to return.

They were overdue.

Leia resisted the temptation to look at her chrono again. Instead she took in another breath of sulphur tainted air and glanced over at Han. He sitting on a packing crate next to the Falcon’s ramp; his eyes firmly fixed on the sky. He rubbed his chin, a movement that she knew was telling of the anxiety he was feeling. Chewbacca was under the Falcon welding on new hull plates.

Leia leaned her hip against the landspeeder that had brought Rieekan to the landing zone and glanced around. The fighter technicians were on their feet, the fire crews had their vehicles and equipment ready, there were medics and medical capsules gathered on the very edge of the area. Leia had a dreadful feeling that their services would not be required, that the casualties the squad had taken were all deaths.

Beside her, Rieekan scuffed his feet in the dirt and ash. Leia knew he was fighting, not just his anxieties, but also his anger; for standing next to him was Major Rhovan, the one man that Rieekan thought should not be present on the squad’s return.

Why had Mon Mothma ordered him there, and why did she have a feeling it was something to do with Luke?

There was a muted rumble and all heads turned to the source and away again as they realised it was just the mountain grumbling.

_Come on, Luke.... Come back..._

Leia linked her fingers, brought her hands up to her face and rested her chin on her knuckles.

_Come back..._

Rieekan’s comlink chirped and she turned as he answered; knowing that everyone’s eyes had just turned their way.

“Rieekan.”

Leia’s heart hammered as the general answered.

“General, sir!” a tinny voice announced. “We have five ships inbound. It’s Red Flight. They will be planet side in less than ten minutes, sir.”

_...five..._

Looking grave Rieekan switched the comm off and turned to shout orders, to tell everyone to get on their feet and into position but he found that he didn’t have, too. The ground crews had responded to the chirp of the comlink as though the noise itself was their orders. The General nodded, swallowed, looked to Leia and Rhovan.

“We need to get them inside and isolated as soon as they land,” Rhovan told them.

Rieekan’s face soured, gestured to the waiting personnel. “My people know their standing orders, Major. I hope you understand yours.”

Rhovan’s face darkened. “Implicitly, General.”

He was not to take part in the debriefing of any of the squad and he was not to draw attention to himself. The exception was with Skywalker. If Luke were to return Rhovan was to be present with Anders and Rieekan.

With her stomach churning with anxiety, Leia pushed herself away from the speeder, nibbled her lip and glanced over at Han. He was on his feet now, eyes still on the sky. Chewbacca was beside him, his welding tools strewn to the floor. The mountain rumbled and the ground shivered, but this time Han did not respond to the venting volcano.

A landspeeder crested the hill and came to a stop beside Rieekan’s. Ehlen Anders climbed out and approached them. Her face was grim, her gait stiff.

“Princess, General,” she greeted, then added to Rhovan. “Major.”

“I have some disturbing news,” she continued. “I have been analysing the holonet recordings of the battle. I noticed in a few of the edited sequences a group of Interceptors around one X-Wing. On magnifying and enhancing the picture we identified the X-Wing as Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker’s.”

A cool horror spread through Leia. “What does this mean?” she whispered, her fear for her friend intensified.

“It’s a tactic used when they want a prisoner,” Rhovan supplied, recognising the description Anders had given. “A squad will target a fighter, place a tracker on it and herd it to the command vessel for a tractor lock. It’s quite effective against smaller and faster vessels like starfighters.”

Rieekan hissed, looked around the landing area, at the waiting personnel. His thoughts instinctive and automatic. “We may have to evacuate.”

“What?” Leia gasped in dismay, cool horror flooding her veins. “You’re assuming he’s been taken? You haven’t given Luke cred...”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Rhovan interrupted. “We may have to err on the side of caution. If he’s been captured Skywalker will not last long under interrogation.”

Anger twisted her gut. “And how would you know?” She snapped.

“Your Highness,” Rieekan placated gently, but firmly, as a noise like thunder rumbled among the mountain tops, the whine of engines underscoring the sounds. “We will debrief the squad first, find out what happened and make our decisions on any evacuation as soon as we know what’s happened to the lieutenant-Commander.”

Leia tore her eyes away from Rhovan and glanced at the sky while nodding to Rieekan. They all turned to watch the X-Wings as they descended over the mountain tops toward the well used landing zone. Leia could see the damage they had sustained as they neared; carbon scoring marked their fuselages, one had lost part of its foil under the closed wing, smoke wisped from engines and as they landed she could see that two of the astromech droids had been lost.

Leia held her breath as the canopies opened, watched as the ground crews ran forward splitting up into groups of mechanics as they surrounded their assigned fighter and pilot. She didn’t notice the number who held back, who slumped and sat down because their X-Wing hadn’t returned.

Helmets were lifted from heads and handed to the first crew member who climbed the ladders set next to their ships. Engines were shut down and a quiet sense of purpose fell over the area. The techs helped pilots from the cockpits with medics hovering nearby. The pilots grabbed water bottles, gulped the liquid thirstily and Leia saw one pour the liquid over his black hair and wipe sweat and grime from his face as he spoke hurriedly to his crew pointing at something on his X-Wing.

Leia almost stepped forward as she recognised Wedge Antilles. She quickly scanned the four other faces as icy dread settled in the pit of her stomach; Narra, Janson, Klivian and a young face she didn’t know.

_Luke..._

She looked back at the sky; saw only clouds and birds and smoke from the mountain.

_Luke..._

A quiet panic stirred, a twist of grief for her missing friend.

_“Come back...”_

She glanced over at Han, the Corellian had gone back to the Falcon. He was underneath it pointing at something and shouting angrily at Chewbacca. The back of her throat thickened as she tried to swallow, as she watched Han take his fear for his friend out on his co-pilot’s repairs. She took a step forward wanting to speak to him, wanting to be with him, to have his arms wrap around her and for him to tell her that the kid would be alright.

A hand settled on her arm.

“Your Highness,” Rhovan said, quietly. “I’m sorry, but Captain Solo is not...”

Leia fought the urge to throw off his hand, fought the urge not to recoil from his touch. “I am aware of what Captain Solo is, Major,” she told him calmly. “I am also aware that he is a friend of Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker.”

“Princess,” he continued as the pilots began to drift their way. “At this moment, Skywalker and the other pilots are merely overdue. Once we have spoken with Commander Narra we will know more, to say anything just now to anyone will merely heighten anxieties and create unhelpful rumours.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic, she knew he was right, but she didn’t like that it had come from him.

Rieekan stepped forward, greeted Narra and directed him and his squad to the waiting speeders. Leia studied their features, knew Rhovan and Anders were doing likewise, already looking for hints and tells of what had occurred above Cusrean. Their faces were grim, tired and they all turned and look up at the empty sky with empty hope as they climbed into the vehicles.

Antilles came last, he hesitated near the Princess, regarded her with hooded eyes and shook his head before turning away and joining Klivian in the back of a speeder.

Leia closed her eyes against the pain his gesture caused; the hope that it ground to dust. She fought the feelings, fought the tears that threatened to rise and spill.

He was only just back. He had only just recovered.

_Luke... no..._

And she was unsure of her greater fear; that he had died, or that he had been taken again.

“Princess?”

She opened her eyes, found Rhovan still beside her.

“I’m sorry...”

She wanted to scream at him that Luke hadn’t been taken, that he wasn’t dead. She wanted to.... smile.

She smiled at him. “He’ll be back, Major. Don’t give up on Luke too prematurely.”

She turned from him, didn’t see his confusion or the slow trickle of understanding that filled his eyes as he watched her walk away to the waiting speeders. She climbed in with Major Anders, sat stiffly as the vehicle began to move.

Rhovan remained where he was, watching the Princess leave as behind him mechanics began to move the fighters into the empty hangars for repair, as fire crews and medics began to disperse and the area cleared.

He threw his own glance to the sky. The Princess had seemed so sure, convinced by her own statement despite her obvious grief. The smile she gave so suddenly was one of joy, one of wonder and, to Rhovan’s practised eye, it was also instinctive and not fully understood by even her.

He knew though. He knew of her bond to the missing pilot and of her Jedi...

_...sith..._

...heritage.

“Major?” Rieekan questioned impatiently, gesturing at his own speeder. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

“If you don’t mind, General,” he responded. “You were right, I am not needed at the debriefings. I’ll make my own back down.”

Rieekan’s eyes narrowed. “What about your orders from Mon Mothma?”

“My orders pertained to Skywalker and he isn’t here,” Rhovan told him easily, smiling. “Besides it’s a beautiful morning, General. And the fresh air and the walk will do me some good.”

Rieekan regarded him uneasily for a moment then he climbed into his speeder and nodded to his driver.

As the general left, Rhovan found the nearest packing crate and sat down to wait.

ooOOoo

  _He was dragged from the crippled X-Wing by the stormtroopers, thrown down to the smooth, polished floor of the hangar. He landed hard, cried out, coughed and heaved in a breath through his constricted throat as boot steps clattered around him. He was kicked over onto his stomach, the chest controls of his flight suit digging into his ribs. He tried to push himself up, but a boot placed on his back shoved him down._

_“Stay down, scum,” a voice warned._

_They fell on him, knees digging into his legs, arms and back, driving the breath from him, keeping him pinned and immobile. His helmet was removed from his head. His flight harness cut from him, the flak vest dragged off, his weapon’s belt taken._

My lightsaber, _he thought desperately._

_He struggled against them, unable to fight his instinct to get away, to try to flee, to resist. The boot again, placed on his head, cruelly forcing it down. He sucked in air from the floor, could smell the polished leather of the footwear..._

Leather? An officer.

_...through the scent of his own fear. His arms were taken, forced behind his back and tightly bound._

...no... not again... no.....

_The pressure was lifted and rough hands took his arms and dragged him up and set him on his feet. He coughed, gagged, his air way still feeling tight and constricted. His legs buckled beneath him but he was caught, held upright and dragged toward the dark figure who had stood impassively watching his arrest._

Luke started awake, a howl of horror escaping him as he jerked upright in the padded seat. He let out a breath, that was half a sigh, half a choked cry when he realised where he was; still in the cockpit of his X-Wing  and headed back to Adralii. He pushed the visor of his helmet up and away from his face and rubbed the heel of his hands over his eyes in an attempt to dispel the lingering images from his nightmare.

A tooted enquiry sounded over the comm and he smiled as he read Artoo’s concern translated on the small screen before him. “I’m fine, Artoo, just a bad dream.”

A whistle.

Luke laughed, despite the hammering of his heart. “Yes, Artoo, it was a doozy.”

He sobered and looked out at the twisting lights of hyperspace. The dream bothered him. It had seemed so real. He had physically felt everything; the troopers pinning him down, the floor against his face, the pressure of the boot holding him down, the hands dragging him to the Dark Lord. He had even sensed smells; his own acrid stench of fear, the polish of the leather boots.

He sniffed the recycled air, wrinkled his nose. Well, perhaps it was simply the cockpit smells invading his dreams; he needed a shower.

He smiled at that, shook his head.

Just a dream. That was all.

_Innocence....._

“How long to reversion?” He asked, ignoring the whisper of his mind.

Artoo twittered his reply and added a series of whistles and burps.

Luke smiled as he read. Only five minutes to sub-light. “I’m sure Han’s back and I’m quite sure that Threepio is still in once piece.”

Another series of hoots and toots.

“I know what Han threatened the last time but he doesn’t really mean it.” He laughed, lightly, his dream and its images beginning to fade as the droid chattered. “Besides,” he reminded Artoo, “there was that time when you threatened Threepio with your electrodes.”

He grinned at the electronic sniggers. There were times when Artoo exhibited all too human characteristics.

He straightened as time for reversion drew closer and his stomach rumbled loudly. He was starving. “Artoo,” he said again, as he scanned his console. “Keep an eye on the port engine, the power’s been fluctuating, try and stabilise it.”

Artoo blooped assent.

“That’s it,” Luke told him, smiling. “Cut into sub-light engines.”

The sudden deceleration streaked the stars back to pin points.  Luke smiled as Adralii loomed green and welcoming before him.  He scanned his system read outs, frowned and tapped on one of the instruments. “Check the shields, Artoo. I’m showing a twenty percent drop on the aft projector.” The last thing he wanted was to burn up on re-entry.

The little droid twittered.

“I know we took a few hits. Re-route power from the hyperdrive, boost the shields.” Brow still furrowed he watched as Artoo followed directions and as the numbers dropped further. “No, that’s not it. Maybe it’s a problem with the projector itself?”

Again the astromech worked as Luke waited. He grinned in relief as the read out suddenly rose and the numerals glowed green across the board. “That’s it, Artoo!”

He keyed his comm. “Adralii control this is Red Five. Inbound and requesting approach vectors to land.”

There was quiet, a burst of static then. “Red Five, Adralii Control, standby.”

_Standby?_

He waited, listened to silence. Tapped his fingers against the control column until his impatience got the better of him. “Adrali control, this is Red Five...” he began again.

“Red Five, this is Adralii control. We request confirmation that the tracking device on your fighter has been deactivated.”

Luke sighed. Wedge was such a blabber mouth.

“This is Red Five. I am bug free. I repeat, bug free.”

“Copy that Red Five. You are cleared for a charlie-one-alpha approach.”

“Charlie-one-alpha, copied, control.”

“Surface wind is two-six-zero at ten. Be advised, the volcanic ash cloud is spreading through sector zero-eight-zero.”

“Cloud spread, copied control. Charlie-one-alpha loaded and locked...”

“Roger that, Red Five... Welcome back Lieutenant-Commander.

“Copy, control.”

He brought the X-Wing down, slowing his velocity as he entered the atmosphere of the planet. His fighter bucked as friction burned against the shielding. Then he was free of the resistance, flying through the air between peaks of mountains as he approached Adralii base. As he lowered the landing struts he could see a small crowd of gathered fire crews, medics and technicians waiting for him; watching should he suddenly need assistance in his damaged fighter. Standing at the front was Ysabel Jaconti; her face grim as she watched him set the X-Wing down.

He groaned. She’d never forgive him for the missing quad gun.

He began to shut down the fighter’s systems and engines and opened the canopy. The smell of sulphur was strong this morning, but the air felt fresh and cool to him. He heaved in a breath as the ladder was set against the fuselage and Yizzi climbed up beside him.

“You had us worried for a while there, Skywalker,” she commented handing Luke a bottle of water that she had snagged off a waiting medic.

“The others?” Luke asked, popping the bottle’s lid and taking a long drink, suddenly realising that the landing pad was eerily empty and a quick glance at the open hangar doors dismayed him. The space beyond seemed hollow, devoid.

 “We got five back, six when we count you.”

“Shit,” Luke breathed, he undid his helmet straps and pulled it off, handed it to the chief. He knew they had taken multiple casualties, but the few number of survivors brought home just how devastating the Imperial defence had been.

_They were holding back. They could have taken you all out._

  “Wedge?”

“He’s fine,” Yizzi assured him. “So’s Nara, Hobbie and Janson. The new kid Ylanec, too.”

Luke raked a hand through his sweat plastered hair and grimaced at the oily feel. He felt grimy and exhausted, wanted only to shower quickly, eat something and fall into his rack, but he knew that procedure and protocol lay ahead. The command staff would want to know what happened.

Questions.

More Questions.

_“With which squadron do you fly?”_

He heaved in a breath, forced Rhovan’s voice from his mind and made himself concentrate on what Yizzi was saying.

“You hurt at all?”

He shook his head, suddenly aware of a dull ache in his ribs from where his harness had caught him during the skirmish. “No, I’m fine.”

He’d been worse.

Yizzi waved the waiting medics and fire crews away. “The brass’ll be waiting for you, the sooner you get done the better, right?”

“Okay,” he breathed, handing Yizzi the empty water bottle and pulling himself up out of the seat. He gestured loosely at the fighter that ticked and cooled beneath him. “I took a few hits.” He confessed.

The chief technician glared. “Tell me something I haven’t seen with my own eyes,” she told him as she backed down the ladder to give him room to climb down.

Luke’s boots kicked up ash as he moved around the ship with Yizzi. “Well, I had problems with the port engine. The power was fluctuating. Also the aft shield projector was acting up, we re-routed power from the hyperdive but that didn’t fix it. Artoo tweaked something so you’d need to talk to him.”

“Ah-huh,” she noted, squinting up at the droid as her crew lifted Artoo out of his socket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, there’s a hole in the back,” Luke ducked down under the nose cone, noticed Han watching him from the hatch of the Falcon. He grinned and waved at his friend; he knew he’d be back. Solo raised a hand in acknowledgement, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. Luke frowned; Han appeared relieved to see him, but his smile seemed affected, fake.

 “And I lost a quad gun,” he told the chief slowly as he tore his eyes away from his friend wondering what was up with the Corellian.

_He knows._

_Innocence._

_You felt them..._

Luke’s stomach turned with unease, but he forced himself to indicate the ruined wing tip where the quad gun had once been attached. He grimaced at the remains of the gun mounting. “Sorry.”

Yizzi shrugged behind him. “Nothing we can’t fix.”

He turned at that unexpected answer. This wasn’t like her; she wasn’t yelling about the damage done to her ship, she wasn’t taking her grief for the lost pilots out on her mechanics, or him. “Is everything okay Yiz, you’re...”

He trailed off, his stomach lurched, a cool chill washed through him as he looked over Ysabel’s shoulder and saw the man who was sitting alone on a packing crate watching him.

Rhovan.

“What’s he doing here?” he whispered, tightly. The man was holding his gaze, his face neutral.

The Chief Tech glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t know,” she told him. “But he’s been sitting there since the squad came in.”

_Waiting for me._   _He was waiting for me._

“Isn’t he the guy that brought you back?”

There was a tone of enquiry in her voice, an underscore of gratitude that sat sour in Luke’s belly. He tore his eyes away from his torturer, fighting his racing emotions, the sudden images and feelings that flickered through his mind; Rhovan’s hand on his cheek, gently brushing sweat, blood and tears away as he soothed him. The droid hovering at his back, the quiet noise it made as it discharged energy into his back.

He swallowed, rasped, “yes,” as he turned away, forcing the memories away, the intimacy of those moments in the cell threatening to overwhelm him. The man probably knew him better than even Han and Leia, knew things about him that he never wished shared with another being.

_“Don’t, Luke. Don’t struggle.”_

“Luke?” Ysabel questioned, she placed a hand on his arm, frowned as he flinched at her touch. “Hey, are you sure you don’t need a medic?”

_"There will be no more medics, Luke. No more medical attention until you give us some information we can use. The Alliance or the Resistance..."_

He took a step back, closed his eyes and willed the memories away. Now was neither the time, nor the place, to give into these feelings, or to the man who sat a few metres away watching. He took in a breath, stood a little straighter and opened his eyes to find the Chief Tech regarding him with concern.

“I’m fine, Yizzi,” he told her. “I’m just tired.”

She smiled, the expression a little forced and he knew she didn’t believe him. He knew there was something else happening here; something that she hadn’t told him. It was in the furtive glances that several of the other techs had sent his way, the way Rhovan...

_...Dade..._

... was watching him; the way that Han lurked by the Falcon.

_They all know._

_Innocence._

“Looks like your ride’s here,” she told him, sounding relieved as she gestured at the approaching landspeeder.

He watched the speeder come to a halt and groaned as he recognised the driver; Haslam, the soldier who had been one of his escorts on Ra’imar, glared at him from the interior. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“I’m s’pposed to take you to Command,” the larger man drawled, with distaste.

Luke ignored him and climbed into the back of the vehicle, leaning out to speak to the Chief. “I’ll see you later, Yizzi. Tell Han to keep a cold one for me.”

“Sure thing, Luke,” she turned away from him and let out a piercing whistle to her crew. “Let’s get this wreck inside people!”

Haslam gunned the engine and the speeder began to move forward. Luke couldn’t resist the urge to twist around and glance back at Rhovan. The major was on his feet, his eyes on the speeder as he followed its path away from the landing zone.

ooOOoo

“You have done well, my friend,” Palpatine purred. His hologram towered over his kneeling apprentice. “The Rebel Alliance is already finding that friends can be fickle; four systems have withdrawn their support.”

Vader did not answer, knew that his master was not finished gloating. He took in a measured breath waiting for Sidious to continue.

“I have promised the Empire retribution for Cusrean, you will deliver it. Continue your searches for the rebel outposts, destroy these insurgents, identify the pilots who took part in the raid and eliminate them. The people must be appeased.”

Vader hesitated for just a moment but Palpatine saw it; he smiled as his apprentice answered. “Yes, my master.”

“You have something to tell me, Lord Vader?” He sounded curious, his voice light and pleasant.

He sounded like the friend and confidant of old and Vader knew that he had no choice but to answer truthfully, despite his misgivings.

“I believe the pilot who destroyed the Cusrean facility was the same boy who destroyed the Death Star.”

Palpatine’s eyes flashed, he leaned forward. “Are you sure?”

“His signature in the Force is unmistakable.” Vader told him, reluctantly.

“And you let him slip through your fingers on Escaal. The boy has shown a great propensity for creating chaos, has he not?”  Palpatine sounded amused, pleased. “This may work to our advantage. He is weak, this act of murder will shake him.  He will seek solace in the Force and leave himself open, easy to trace.”

The Emperor feigned consideration. “You appear to have a... connection to him, my friend. Pay attention to the Force, listen to what it whispers to you. Use that and find him.

“Find him, bring him to me and we shall show him what it means to defy his Emperor.”

“As you wish, my master,” Vader answered by rote.

The connection to Imperial Centre was severed and Vader drew himself up and stood as he reflected on their brief exchange.

Still they had not acknowledged the pilot as his son, still they danced around the truth calling Luke “the boy,” and still Vader was unsure of Palpatine’s designs for his son once they had him in custody.

_But you do know. He will take your child and he will twist him as he has twisted you._

A quiet anger settled in his stomach and his fists clenched at the echo of his mind, an echo that sounded very much like Kenobi.

_“You have allowed this Dark Lord to twist your mind until now... until now you have become the very thing you swore to destroy.”_

Kenobi was a fool, blinded by the Jedi Code, too entrenched in his pious ways to see the power and strength that the Force could truly offer; the limitless potential for growth and expansion, the depths and beauty of its darkness. It was what sustained him, drove him; that and his son.

His son who continued to elude him, whose presence beckoned and teased him.

His son who would, one day, stand before him and acknowledge him.

_“I... won’t betray... the Alliance... as... you betrayed... my father.”_

Luke was brave, but gravely mislead. He needed his father’s guidance and, if the murmur of the Force was correct, then he also needed his father’s protection.

Vader climbed the steps to his meditation chamber and seated himself. The claws closed around him, the air pressurized and the helmet and mask were lifted from his head. He took in a breath, allowing the air to burn in his damaged lungs. He closed his eyes, reached for the Force and searched through its shifting patterns, its convoluted depths, for his errant child.

Luke could not stay quiet, or hidden, for long.

ooOOoo

Rhovan took a sip of hot Kaffin and set his cup down next to the monitor that was relaying the live link from the small windowless room next door. He looked to the screen watching the lone figure, who sat in one of four chairs, drumming his fingers on the metallic surface of a table. The Intel officer reached over and tweaked the volume control, turning it up until he could hear the rhythm that Skywalker was nervously playing.

The pilot had arrived with his driver, had  been isolated in the room and left to wait for over an hour while the rest of the squad’s debriefings continued with Major Anders and Rieekan. The Princess Leia had attempted to see him, but even her access to him was denied to avoid contaminating the pilot’s answers during his own debriefing. Luke needed to be clear headed and not have the events over Cusrean confused with information that his well meaning friend...

_...sister..._

... might innocently divulge. This debrief was going to be hard enough for the boy as it was.

A sigh emanated from the speakers and Luke rubbed at his eyes and pinched the top of his nose. The pilot was obviously tired; his exhaustion and fatigue, coupled with his growing impatience and the heat in the room, were dragging his mood low. This could either make the pilot more compliant to answer questions, or adversarial.

Rhovan knew that Luke would almost certainly be the latter, especially when the pilot saw that he was controlling the questions. However, Rieekan’s presence would provide the counterbalance; Luke would take his strength from the General, would not want to let the man down. The pilot was loyal, respectful and it was those traits that would assist Rhovan.

He watched as Luke undid the fastenings at the neck of his flight suit before dragging the zipper down. He had already removed his white flak vest, his flight harness and suit controls and discarded them to the floor of the small room.

The Major smiled as Skywalker lounged in the chair and regarded the bare, greenish white duracrete walls with hooded eyes. The boy placed his feet up onto the table, crossed his ankles and heaved in a breath of stale air. Luke leaned back, balancing the chair on two legs. His eyelids soon drooped and, after a few moments, he jerked awake almost tipping over and falling to the floor.

Rhovan suppressed a laugh as the boy whispered, “Dammit,” and set the chair back on four legs.

Skywalker’s reaction on the landing zone had been interesting. It was clear that the pilot had not yet come to terms with Escaal and Rhovan’s role in it. Luke was using his strength to resist what had happened, was fighting against the events of the past and was struggling not to show any weakness to the man who had been both his tormentor and his saviour.

It was the same strength that had supported him during questioning, and it was the same strength that had begun to fail him just as Vader had arrived and Rhovan had to wonder when it would fail him completely and how Luke would react to its loss.

His eyes narrowed as he watched Skywalker get up and walk around the room. The pilot was trying to stay awake, trying to dampen down his fears as his mind played tricks and threw in random thoughts. Luke would be worried about the rest of the squad. He’d be wondering where they were and if they were being cooped up like him. He would be wondering what he would be asked, and if he knew the answers.

Luke fell back into the chair and chewed at his finger nails.

The boy was nervous; he would be wondering if questions would be asked about his performance during the mission and if anything he had done would have repercussions for him. He’d be wondering why he was being held like this for so long.

The Major smiled as Luke crossed his arms on the table and settled his head on top. It didn’t take long for his eyelids to slowly close as the sleep he so badly needed forced itself upon him.

The door opened behind the Intel Officer and Anders and Rieekan entered.

“How is he?” Rieekan asked, glancing at the screen.

“As you would expect, General,” Rhovan told him. “Tired, impatient and currently asleep. How are the others?”

“They took the news as you would expect,” Anders answered, softly. “They are gutted, and worried about Skywalker.”

Anders handed him a datapad and he scrolled quickly through the information. A few statements jumped out at him.

“He froze? They all say that?”

Ehlen nodded, she looked as tired the pilot in the next room. “Although it took a couple of them a while to admit it, but yes. They state that he said that attacking the station was a mistake and that he pulled up without firing his torpedoes on his first run.”

Rhovan chilled at this. The boy hadn’t frozen the boy had...

“He knew,” Rhovan stated, looking to both Rieekan and Anders. “Somehow, he knew what was in that station.”

Anders pulled up a chair and sat down. Her eyes were on the monitors, on the sleeping pilot next door. “Perhaps,” she admitted. “It could have been his Jedi abilities, or perhaps we just sent him out before he was ready.”

Rhovan glanced at Luke as a moan came from monitor’s speakers. He was slumped over the table now, looking really uncomfortable and he was dreaming. “And yet, he still destroyed the station.”

“On his second run,” Rieekan supplied. “And only after Narra gave the task to Antilles and told Luke to leave.”

Rhovan knew exactly what had happened.  Luke had sensed that the station was not a threat, had tried to warn the squad away, but he knew he was under orders. Luke had been caught between duty and conscience and duty had won because of what had come before, because he had been reprimanded for not following orders and because he felt the need to prove himself after Escaal.

And for pride twenty thousand people had died.

“It’s not for me to question him this time,” Rhovan told them. Luke would have enough to work through without the added burden of sitting across from him. This questioning, unlike that on Escaal, was not to break the boy and that is exactly what would happen should he be the one to tell Luke what he had done when he had pulled the trigger.

It might still break him.

“Major,” he bowed his head to Anders. “I defer to you, it will suffice for me to observe from here.” He picked up two ear-pieces, tossed them to Rieekan and Anders. “General,” he said, as he fitted another ear-piece and comlink on himself. “If I have questions, you can ask them.”

ooOOoo

Luke jolted awake and jumped to his feet sending the chair clattering to floor behind him as General Rieekan and Major Anders entered the room. His face flushed with embarrassment at being caught sleeping and he wiped at his mouth where a dribble of saliva had began to dry.

“General, sir, I...” Luke tensed, stood to attention, feeling a little panicked. Why was Rieekan here? Why was the Base Commander sitting in on a mission debriefing?

“At ease, Lieutenant-Commander,” Rieekan told him easily. “Sit down.”

Luke swallowed, grabbed his chair, righted it and sat down. “Thank you, sir.”

Rieekan sat opposite and placed a data recorder on the table. “We’ll make this as brief as possible.” Rieekan bit back his desire to add ‘son’ to his statement, to acknowledge his sympathy for the pilot who had gone through so much in the last few months.

“Thank you, sir,” Luke acknowledged. He cleared his throat suddenly feeling nervous as the door opened again and a soldier entered with a jug of water and some glasses. Luke eyed the tray as it was placed down wishing it carried something to eat, too.

Anders reached forward and activated the recorder as the soldier left and the door closed shutting them in the stifling hot room.

A distant rumble trembled through the room as the Major began to speak. “This is a fact finding debriefing of Lieutenant-Commander Luke Skywalker, service number 0h-nine-five-five-nine-six-seven-five, following Red Flights mission to Cusrean. I am Major Ehlen Anders, with me is General Carlist Rieekan.

“Lieutenant-Commander, can you please begin by detailing the events as they happened from the moment the squad reverted to sub-light.”

Luke took in a breath knowing, despite Rieekan’s assertion that this would be a short meeting, that he was in this room for the long haul.

“I, um...” he cleared his throat again. “We jumped outside the system, accelerated to attack speed and broke formation at Commander Narra’s mark...”

ooOOoo

Rhovan leaned on the console with his head in his hands fascinated by Skywalker’s effort to talk through the events of the mission; there was no doubt that he was being truthful and yet Rhovan felt that not the whole truth was being spoken in that room.

Luke was missing something out; something that he desperately wanted to avoid.

Luke knew, on some level, what he had done and was struggling not to acknowledge it. By the end of the debriefing the boy would be left with no choice but to face the consequences of his actions.

 The pilot shifted on the chair, uncomfortable with the questions. “I... just felt it, just felt that something wasn’t right.”

“So you disobeyed a direct order,” Anders threw at him.

Rhovan shook his head, smiled, and she thought he was a bastard. She ought to look in the mirror sometimes; after all she was the one who reprimanded Skywalker for that very offence. Now she was playing the boy, upsetting him, using the events against him.

“No!” Luke protested, vehemently. “I took the shot!”

“But only after Commander Narra ordered you away and gave the task to Lieutenant Antilles,” she reminded him.

Luke’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, ma’am, but...” He fell silent, shifted in the chair again.

Like the seasoned interrogator that she was, Ehlen Anders remained mute, waiting for Luke speak, no matter how long it took.

It didn’t take long. The boy was exhausted, wanted away from the room; knew he was possibly facing a court martial for disobeying yet another direct order.

“Major,” he began tentatively. “I just did what I had to do, what I thought was right.”

“We are not here to apportion blame for anything, Lieutenant-Commander,” she replied, softly. “We are merely establishing facts.”

Rhovan scoffed, saw Rieekan frown at the derisive sound in his ear-piece. “General,” he said now that he had Rieekan’s attention. “Ask about Vader.”

Rieekan visibly tensed. Luke noticed and the boy’s head swung around, blue eyes looked at the wall that separated them.

Rhovan swore. Rieekan was useless at subterfuge.

There was a scrape as a chair was pushed back and Luke stood up and walked to the blank wall, his eyes searching the room, ignoring Ander’s request to sit down. Then he found the camera positioned in the duracreet in the far corner.

He laughed, the sound hoarse and dry of humour.

“Lieutenant-Commander!” Rieekan barked. “Sit down.”

Luke jumped at the shout, spun around on the General. “He’s there, isn’t he?” he demanded. “He’s watching and listening.”

Anders stood, gestured to the empty chair. “Please, Lieutenant-Commander, sit down.”

The laugh again, a hand brushed through unruly hair, but he took up his place at the table, his eyes still on the camera.

Rieekan leaned forward. “Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker,” he warned. “I realise that you are tired, and that this is difficult for you, but I will not tolerate insubordination. When you speak to me your tone will be respectful and you will address me as ‘sir.’ Is that clear?”

Luke’s eyes cast down to the table top. He swallowed, nodded, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Rieekan leaned back. “Major Rhovan is merely observing. He is playing no part in this debriefing.”

Rhovan didn’t miss the flicker of a smirk that crossed the boys face at Rieekan’s lie, neither did Ander’s. Her eyes narrowed as she picked up her datapad and made a play of reading the information before asking the question.

“When did you become aware that Darth Vader was one of the Imperial pilots?”

ooOOoo

Luke started at the question. He drew his eyes away from the table, looked into the Major’s brown ones. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

This was becoming too hard, this was too much. The heat in the room, the pressure of being questioned, was bearing down on him. He wanted to get up and run, put space between him and the unfolding events; from Rhovan in the next room.

“ _It’s okay, it’s okay. This’ll be over soon.”_

Whispered words of comfort, of promise, as he hung bloodied and beaten from restraints.

_“Your pathetic attempts at drawing upon the Force have only prolonged you suffering.”_

Vader.

He was to tell them about Vader.

 He wiped sweat from his brow, wiped his damp fingers on the leg of his flight suit.

It was too quiet. They were waiting for him to answer.

“I just knew,” he said lamely, telling them the same as he had told the panel during his hearing, not knowing how else to express it to them. He just wanted to get out of here, just wanted this to end.

_You felt them..._

“The Force?” Anders wanted to know and Luke was pleased to hear no scepticism in her voice.

He nodded, feeling relieved to be believed. “Yes, I can feel things, know things. I...” he shrugged. “I just knew he was there.”

“Like you knew that Ra’imar was in danger?” Rieekan asked, now wishing he had listened to the young man. How many lives could have been saved if he had taken the boy at his word.

Luke nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Luke caught the glance of dismay that Ander’s sent to Rieekan. He tensed, his shoulder muscles bunched, his head beginning to pound through lack of sleep and stress. He was terribly aware of Rhovan watching.

_Innocence..._

Rieekan’s eyes moved to the side and Luke’s gut twisted with rage as he realised the Major was listening to Rhovan. The General’s eyes moved back, found Luke. “Do you think that Vader can sense you the same way?

Luke hesitated, nodded. “Yes,” his voice was dry, hoarse with anger. “Yes, I think he can.”

Again that shift in Rieekan’s eyes, a frown then; “Can you sense him now?”

“No.” He had to fight the sudden urge to try, the temptation to open himself to the Force and seek out the presence of another; no matter how dark.

_“We will speak at length, Young One.”_

He squeezed his eyes shut against the horror of his memory, against his startling compulsion.

“Do you believe that is how you came to be identified and tagged by the Imperial fighters?” Anders wanted to know.

“Yes,” he answered, truthfully, for of course Vader wanted him.

Anders continued. “How did you evade them?”

ooOOoo

Rhovan listened as Luke explained that he had his astromech remove the bug and that he allowed the Imperial’s to drive him toward the super star destroyer and how, at the last moment, he had suddenly accelerated away from them and jumped to hyperspace while still in the system.

_Suicidal._

The boy was suicidal; reckless, had no regard for his own life. He had only wanted to get away, had only wanted to avoid another Imperial cell and Darth Vader even if he had died in the attempt.

And Rhovan had to wonder if Luke would be so keen to escape if he knew that Vader was his father.

ooOOoo

Luke took a sip of water, wetting his mouth and lips with the cool liquid. He placed the glass down, leaned back into the chair, his story told. He looked expectantly to Ander’s and Rieekan in turn desperately wanting to be dismissed and desperately trying not to let it show. He needed to get away, he needed to calm down, to shower, to sleep, to do normal everyday things and not think about anything else.

_Innocence..._

“Luke,” Anders began.

His heart sank at the use of his first name, the tone with which it was said. Now he was about to be told what was really going on here; why the base was so subdued, why Yizzi had been uncomfortable around him, why Rieekan had taken part in the debriefing. Why even Han’s behaviour had seemed odd and out of place.

_I don’t want to know._

“You are not facing any disciplinary charges with regards to your actions during the battle,” Ander’s continued.

There was no relief in this. She had used his name, not his rank.

“You may have disobeyed orders, but you did not do so wilfully. Had we known what the facility was, your orders would not have been lawful.”

_Please... don’t say it._

“Major, I...” His voice was lost, his heart hammered, his breathing became short and rapid as panic drove through him.

“The Empire fed us false information, set us up for the attack. The Cusrean station was no longer a weapons development facility.”

_No..._

_“_ It was filled with refugees.”

Stillness.

The moment was static, quiet.

Then a high pitched whine filled his ears; one word repeated again and again...

_...Refugees..._

He closed his eyes, swallowed against a throat clogged with horror. He felt sick, felt the room grow unbearably cold. He shivered, feeling alone, isolated. He was the one who had pulled off the shot, he was the one who...

_...knew! You felt them..._

_... felt the innocence and still you fired upon them..._

...had carried out the act.

Everything seemed like a blur, muted and surreal as Rieekan and Anders spoke to him. He didn’t know what they said, what they asked. He couldn’t hear what they saying above the screaming of his mind, could sense nothing above his own wretchedness, his horror and desolation. These were old feelings, familiar friends, come home to taunt and haunt him...

_...because of you. These people died because of you!_

And his inner voice held a hint of pleasure, of biting congeniality, the teasing tones of disappointment.

_“I had hoped you had reconsidered your attitude. I had hoped we could speak on more... civilised terms.”_

And Rhovan was there, his face devoid of emotion, his voice cajoling and sympathetic as the line fell from the ceiling, as the black garbed guards fastened it to bloody cuffs and...

“Luke?” Anders’ voice was sharp. “Luke, are you all right?”

He looked up at her, feeling dazed and detached.

 “How many?” He was surprise to hear his voice, surprised at how calm he sounded while nausea rolled in his belly. “How many did I kill?”

Rieekan hesitated for a moment as the youth asked the same question as the Princess Leia; except Luke was taking sole responsibility for the act. He was reluctant to answer, but knew the boy would learn the number from others; from the holonet. Better to hear it from him.

“At least twenty thousand.”

Luke stiffly nodded as though he understood what the figure meant, as though twenty thousand was an easy number to imagine.

“Luke,” Rieekan sat forward, wanting the pilot to listen, to understand. “This was not your doing. You are not responsible for this. We acted on the information we had at the time. It was not until after the attack that we found out the Empire had fed us the information to discredit us. Until then, it was a legitimate target.”

As the General spoke, Luke slowly closed his fist under the table, tightening his fingers until his knuckles were white and his nails digging into his palm. His eyes were on the table top, the water jug in his line of sight. He couldn’t look at Rieekan couldn’t acknowledge what the man was saying, but he slowly nodded his head anyway. Anything to get him to stop talking.

“May I be dismissed?” He asked, his voice controlled, cold.

Rieekan shook his head, sadly. He didn’t want to do this to the youth, but Luke had been through enough; he needed a break and, after this, he needed help, even if he wouldn’t want to accept it. “I’m sorry to do this, Luke,” he hesitated, drew himself up, and continued, his voice firm. “Lieutenant-Commander, I am removing you from active duty and reinstating the requirements of the Hearing Panel. You will continue your required psych sessions with Dr Therriman until we have a satisfactory report from him that you are emotionally and mentally fit for service.”

 The glass water jug shattered. Water and glass particles splattered across the metal surface.

Anders jumped, moved back. The noise her chair made on the floor drew Luke’s attention. His throat worked as he fought to reign in his feelings, fought to keep himself restrained. “Can I go?”

“Perhaps we should call in a medic, Luke, have you checked over,” she offered as water ran in rivulets and dripped from the table, knowing that it was Luke who had broken the jug, recognising just how brittle his hold on his emotions was. He was pale, suddenly looking gaunt and drawn.

“Don’t,” he told her, quickly, the word sounding like a warning. He glanced at the shards of glass. “I... mean, please ma’am. I just need...” He trailed off, not knowing what he needed, what he wanted. He looked blankly at her. “I’m fine,” he told her. “I’ll be fine.”

Rieekan could have ordered the boy to the medical centre, but he knew it would have served no purpose. Luke wouldn’t have obeyed that order either and he had no wish to add to the pilot’s troubles. “You are dismissed, Lieutenant-Commander.”

“Thank you, sir.” The reply was hoarse, forced out.

He quickly stood, pushing the chair back and gathered his flight gear from the floor. He walked silently to the door. It opened to the side and he stepped out into the corridor beyond. It was cooler out here, it was...

...where was it? Where was he? What was he to do now? Where could he go?

He started walking. Automatically moving one foot in front of the other with no sense of where he was going or why. He stepped outside the command building and into the sunshine of mid-afternoon, his boots kicking up dirt and grass as he moved through the compound. The sunlight winked off passing speeders and he winced as the light blinded him...

_....flames, when the flames arose I felt..._

“Luke!”

He turned on his heels, saw the Princess running to catch up. She looked small and pale and anxious.

“Leia.”

Where had she been? Why was she here now?

She came toward him, took his gear from his arms and dropped them to the ground. She embraced him, circling her arms around him, pulling him close, placing her head against his chest. “Luke, I’m so sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around her, held her against him, stroked her hair, tucked strands behind her ear, murmured that he was fine, that he was okay because that’s what she needed to hear, and what he needed to say, even though neither of them believed it.

ooOOoo

Rhovan reached across and switched off the live feed as Skywalker left the room. He pulled the ear-piece and comm from his head and threw it down on the console in front of him.

“Shit,” he cursed to the empty room.

He unbuttoned his top collar, lounged back in his seat and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to remember when he’d last slept. He reached for his cup of kaffin that had lain untouched during the debriefing. It was cold, but it was kaffin and he sorely needed the boost it would give him. He drank deeply, grimacing at its cool bitterness.

The door swept aside and Rieekan and Anders joined him.

“Is that fresh?” Ander’s asked nodding at the cup with some longing in her voice.

Rhovan tipped the container, swirled its contents around and smiled. “I wish.” He set it down as she fell into the chair next to him.

Rieekan perched on the edge of the console, looking very much like a man with the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.

“That could have gone better,” Anders commented, needlessly and just for something to say, something to break the bleak silence.

She was exhausted, worn down by telling all six pilots what their Cusrean target had really been. They had all shrank with grief, with guilt, they had all become angry; at the Empire and at the Alliance for sending them out in the first place. Antilles had been particularly vocal in his response to the news.

Skywalker’s reaction was, however, the most concerning.

Rhovan lifted his cold mug again. “Well, congratulations,” he toasted them both before taking a drink.

“What do you mean?” Rieekan bit.

“You managed to do what I could not,” he nodded toward the empty room next door. “You broke him.”

Anders bristled, her temper perilous close to snapping. “That wasn’t one of your torture sessions, Rhovan.”

“No?” Rhovan smiled into his cup. “It looked like one to me.”

“You’re out of order, Major Rhovan,” Rieekan warned; even though he knew that Erwin spoke the truth. He had just watched his own words crush a boy who had been struggling badly since returning from Escaal.

“My apologies, General,” Rhovan offered, although his tone of voice conveyed no regret. “But I said it before; your Jedi is a loose cannon. You’ll need to watch where you point him.”

 “Luke isn’t a Jedi,” Anders corrected quietly, sadly. “And believe me, I’ve known Jedi. Luke isn’t even a padawan. He is a boy with a raw power and a famous name and no-one left to teach him what he needs.” She looked at Rhovan with barely disguised disgust. “The Major’s right though,” She conceded, reluctantly. “We’ll need to tread more carefully with Luke, give him some room to heal, before he loses whatever control he still has.”

Rieekan frown, becoming concerned. “You think he might be dangerous?”

“Of course he’s dangerous!” Rhovan snorted with derision. The Major drew himself out of his chair. “Think about it General. He knew that the Cusrean station was not a threat. On some level, he sensed what it contained. He chose to fire upon it anyway. That is not the act of a Jedi Knight.”

“He was following orders,” Rieekan defended.

Rhovan was at the door, cup in hand. “Ah-huh,” he agreed. “He was. But it’s when Jedi follow orders that you should worry.” He regarded the dregs of his drink. “I’m going to get some more Kaffin before my next duty shift.” He palmed open the door and disappeared through it.

Confused, Rieekan turned to Anders. “What did he mean?”

Ehlen sighed, some understanding for the Chandrilian slipping into place. “One of Rhovan’s first postings with Imperial Intelligence was Jabiim. It was the cruelty of the Empire there that made him first question his allegiance to Palpatine.” She glanced at him in interest.  “You don’t know the story of Jabiim?”

Rieekan nodded. “I know that the Republic was defeated there and took heavy losses during the Clone Wars.”

She nodded. “Yes. The Jedi tried to defend it, but the Separatists forces were too great. Eventually it was a Padawan, a young Lieutenant, who was left in command of the Republic forces after all the commanders had fallen.  He organised the remaining padawans into a defending action to allow the Republic time to evacuate. However, the Chancellor ordered the Lieutenant to oversee the evacuation instead and so he abandoned the remaining Padawans. They all died.

“The Jabiimi loyal to the Republic begged the Jedi to evacuate them, too. But his orders were for the Republic Forces only. He chose the Clones, the soldiers, over the population. There was a panic and the people rushed the ships, tried to get on board. That one padawan held them off with the Force and left them too their fate.

“Thousands died because Anakin Skywalker obeyed orders, and his name has been cursed on Jabiim ever since.”

Rieekan was quiet, thoughtful, so Anders continued. “Later in the Clone Wars many of Skywalker’s accomplishments were because he disobeyed orders and followed his feelings.” She smiled with her memories, recalling Master Windu pacing the ops room because Skywalker had, yet again, disregarded his commands and had turned up half a Galaxy away from where he was supposed to be.  “It annoyed some, but they couldn’t deny his gifts. Allowances were made, even in war.”

Ever the military man Rieekan bucked at this. “There must be discipline, Ehlan. You are suggesting that I make allowances for Luke simply because his father...”

“No, Carlist,” she continued. “I am suggesting that you see Luke, not as his father’s son, but as himself. You saw, in that room, a tiny display of his power, he is not only struggling with what has been happening to him these last few months, but also his Jedi heritage. We need to give him some freedom to explore that.”

She paused, thinking of the young man who had walked out of the room so quietly, so stiffly and so very obviously on the verge of collapse. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “He needs your discipline, probably more now than ever, but not at the cost of anything else.”

Rieekan deliberated on her words, sighed, rubbed his hand against the stubble on his chin. “I’ll consider what you have said and discuss the matter with Narra. But, allowances can only go too far, Luke has to be bound by the same laws as everyone else, or we’ll have chaos in the ranks.”

Ehlen nodded. “I couldn’t agree more,” she told him, knowing that she had made her point. “Now,” she said, standing up and pushing her chair under the console. “Rhovan isn’t the only one who needs a strong cup of Kaffin.”

ooOOoo

TBC....


	8. A Legitimate Target - Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke continues to deal with his experiences on Escaal and the knowledge that during the attack on Cusrean he killed over 20,000 innocent refugees - despite the Force warning him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Previous Disclaimers apply.

**A Legitimate Target**

**Part Three**

 

Luke pulled the panel door shut and rested his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower cubical relieved to be closed off and away from everyone else. His head was thumping, each beat of his heart sending waves of pain through his skull and turning his stomach with nausea. He closed his eyes relishing the peace and quiet, the solitude that the tiny space gave him; it shut him away, even if just for a short while, from the rest of the base.

He had walked with Leia back to his barracks, her arm around his waist, his arm around her shoulder. He couldn’t remember anything that she had said to him, could only recall that she had spoken to him, tried to sooth him with soft spoken words of comfort; but all he saw were the looks he got from the personnel they passed in the compound. In the glances sent his way, he saw their grief, their pity and their anger.

_Because of you..._

At the door of his room Leia’s comlink had chimed, he remembered her look of annoyance, her flash of irritation as she answered. All he recalled of her brief conversation was “Mon Mothma,” “meeting” and “damage control.”

She had glanced at him with guilt, knowing he would have over heard. He didn’t want to know what she saw when she looked at him...

_...a killer..._

...didn’t want to acknowledge what had just happened, what she had sent him into.

He had clamped that thought, glanced away from her to hide his guilt and shame. That was a cruel and unfair slur on the Princess who had only tried to do what was best. She had to deal with her own guilt for sending him, for being part of the command structure that had sanctioned the mission in the first place.

“I’m fine, Leia,” he had assured her. “I’ll have a shower, I’ll sleep.” In truth he wanted her gone. He wanted to be alone, he wanted...

_What? What do I want?_

_“I want to become a Jedi like my father.”_

He scoffed, the soft sound breaking the silence of the shower room. Did Jedi kill innocents? Had his father murdered thousands?

_You felt them..._

He shifted his bare feet, moved his head to press against a fresh tile, wincing at the pain from the mottled bruising on his chest where his harness had caught him during the battle. He twisted the controls with a trembling hand and the water jets hit him on the back, strong and hot; spring water heated by the volcano.

He stood still, allowing the water to cascade over his body, down the back of his neck, easing the muscles that had bunched tight; adding to his headache. He ran his hands through his sweat soaked hair, scrubbed his face, rubbed his eyes and turned, allowing the water to massage his shoulders, to run down his naked back.

It was only when he opened his eyes and reached for the soap that he realised he had forgotten to bring it into the cubicle with him. He smiled, chuckled, began to laugh at the small mishap that had just summed up his entire day. The last joke: he couldn’t wash away the dirt, couldn’t cleanse himself of the sweat and grime. No tube of soap could purify the stains he needed to remove; nothing had the power to absolve impurities that were not physical.

_When the flames arose I felt...._

And the laugh caught in his throat. He closed his fists, squeezed his eyes shut against the strength of his pain, his fury. It lay thick within; a bleakness of spirit, an empty grief that twisted into itself, expanded and constricted with each beat of his heart until the agony became too much.

He cried out in rage and punched the tiles of the cubical, relishing the physical pain; it was no less than he deserved.

“Luke?”

The voice caught him, stopped him and his breath caught in his throat. He let it out with a shudder as the hot water scalded his back. He was horrified that someone may have heard his loss of control. His injured hand flexed, blood running and dripping from grazed knuckles.

“Hey, kid?”

There was a tap at the door and it opened a crack. Steam billowed as cool air rushed in.

A hand appeared with his soap. “I think you forgot somethin’.”

Luke forced a smiled, took the offered tube. “Thanks, Han.” He tried to shut the door, but the hand came through again. This time holding an open bottle of Ebla beer.

“Your cold one,” Han’s voice told him. “And there’s plenty more on the Falcon when you’re ready, kid.”

ooOOoo

He opened the little blue droid’s head and peered into the workings. He smiled, reached in and withdrew the secondary recorder, unclipping it from the wires that fed into the droids optical and audio networks.

He replaced it with a new one and carefully fitted the droid head back on. Like before, the robot would not retain any memories of this time, would believe that he had merely been recharging while deactivated; resting.

He stood, patting the little droid, before he slipped the recorder into his pocket and left the room.

It was time to see what Artoo Detoo had been recording these last few days.

ooOOoo

“You could come with me,” Han offered again as Chewbacca moved one of his pieces on the Dejarik board.

Luke, dressed in his fatigues and slouching in the chair next to the engineering station, shook his head. “You know I can’t, Han.” He absently played with the beer bottle in his bandaged hand, sloshing the bitter liquid within. “I’ve to see Therriman, remember?” He glanced at the Correllian anticipating the next suggestion. “And, no, I’m not resigning my commission.”

The Falcon shuddered, knocking over Han’s bottle of beer; its contents spilling over the floor. “Friggin’ mountain,” he cursed, scrambling after the bottle as Luke laughed.

Solo caught the bottle, cursed as much of the liquid trickled between the deck plates and through the grating. He peered unhappily at the deck.

“Are you gonna get that?” Luke asked him, nodding at the disappearing puddle, as Chewie wailed with displeasure in the background.

“Nah,” Han decided, sitting back down and punching in a move on the game to counter Chewie’s. “You can get it in the morning, it’ll give you something to do with all that spare time Rieekan’s given you.”

Luke grimaced as he took a drink from his own bottle, unhappy at being reminded. “It’ll cost you.”

“Nope,” Han told him with a grin. “You’ve been drinking my beer, buddy.”

Chewie chuffed, good naturedly, as one of his gaming pieces throttled one of Han’s.

“Ah,” Solo noted in exasperation. “Chewie, you cheatin’ son of a ...”

The Wookiee howled in denial.

Han looked to Luke for back up. “Kid, little help?”

Luke smirked. “Not a chance, you’re on your own, Han.” He emptied his bottle and reached for another one, opened it and took a long drink.

ooOOoo

Mon Mothma glanced out of the window of her state room as the floor trembled beneath her feet. A light fall of volcanic ash began, dusting the compound beyond. She rubbed the back of her neck and stretched, trying to ease the tension that wound around her like a durasteel coil. The meeting had been a long one, an angry one and, in the long run, a futile one. There was little they could say to a Galaxy outraged by the Cusrean disaster, even if they did suspect that it had all been orchestrated by the Empire itself, and so they had decided to say nothing at all and allow the story to run its course.

She and the Princess Leia had taken holo-conferences from numerous systems that had pledged allegiance after the battle of Yavin. Some they had managed to persuade to continue their support; others they had lost; more still were undecided and she and the other council members still had a lot of work to do to contain the damage that Cusrean had done to their reputation.

Luke Skywalker, who had almost single handily saved the Rebellion two years before, was now responsible for almost pulling it apart with a similar act.

She hissed at her thoughts, at the cruel bite in them; it was she and the rest of the command staff who had sanctioned Skywalker’s participation in the attack. If Luke hadn’t pulled off the shot another pilot would have and the end result would have been the same. Her thoughts were ungracious and unfair, but unfortunately, they were also true.

Many had identified with the Skywalker name, had looked upon it with awe and celebration: the son of the hero of the Clone Wars; a Jedi Knight. The boy had given hope to those who yearned for it and thousands had flocked to the Rebellion’s cause. Unfortunately, as with Anakin Skywalker, the boy was also human and thus flawed. It still remained to be seen if he could live up to the expectations place on him, if he could claw himself out from beneath his father’s shadow, or be swallowed by it.

Only she, and now Rhovan, knew what Anakin Skywalker had become; knew how deep and dark that shadow had become.

She sighed, sinking into one of the worn sofas as she waited for Major Rhovan to arrive. She knew that Rhovan was not entirely satisfied by his new duties; knew that he was bored and distracted and would rather be out in the field and in the danger, but she needed him. She needed his ruthlessness and his dedication to duty. Only Rhovan would be single-minded in his pursuit of his objective; or so she had thought.

Her intercom chimed.

“Yes?”

“Mi’lady, Major Rhovan has arrived.”

“Send him in.”

Rhovan looked strained, exhausted; his appearance mirroring her own. Volcanic ash dusted his hair and shoulders.

Mothma lost no time in getting to the point. “Major, I understand that you did not debrief Skywalker as I had requested.”

 “No ma’am,” he confirmed. He stood just inside the door, not having permission to venture further in or sit. Mothma waved him in and he waited until the door slid closed behind him before explaining, “I did not believe that my presence in the room would be beneficial to Skywalker’s state of mind.”

She gave no reply, so he continued. “As it was his reaction was... concerning.”

She nodded. “Yes, Rieekan informed me. He also informed me that you believe Luke to be dangerous.”

Rhovan grimaced: in retrospect his words may have been exaggerated; overshadowed by the stories he had learned of the Jedi on Jabiim, his lack of knowledge about the Force and by his understanding of what Luke had been through… What he had subjected Luke to.

It was also overshadowed by his knowledge that the Jedi padawan who had betrayed Jabiim had become Darth Vader, and Luke’s father.

 “Therriman diagnosed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder following Escaal,” he offered “and the events of Cusrean will likely exacerbate his condition. He has little control, or command, over his power and he is mentally and emotionally unstable. Those factors make him dangerous.”

“Dangerous to whom, Major?”

He shrugged. “Most likely to himself.”

She considered his words. “Did we make a mistake in sending him on the mission?”

“We have established that Vader is very much aware of Luke and making efforts to capture him alive. That was our objective, was it not, to determine Vader’s own intentions toward his son?”

“But our intention was not to destroy the boy in the process, Rhovan,” she argued.

“No, ma’am, but that may have to be the end result. You made that very clear when you charged me with this task.”

She was silent, contemplating him, contemplating the assignment she had set him and the young man whose fate, whose very life, they held in their hands.

Rhovan shifted his feet, continuing. “Luke’s loyalties lie with the Alliance, Mi’lady, there is no doubt about that. The monitoring systems I installed in his droid corroborate the evidence that Luke gave at his debrief. He risked his life to escape Vader.” He paused and added. “There was also something else,” he gestured at her holoplayer. “If I may?”

“Of course...”

Rhovan loaded the recording. The image flickered, stabilised and Mon Mothma found herself watching Luke Skywalker as he took up a stance and ignited his lightsaber. He pivoted and blocked a shot from a circling remote. He twisted and turned; blocked another. Soon his movements became faster, more relaxed and natural. It was, Mothma reflected, like watching a Jedi of old.

“He’s training himself,” she breathed, smiling.

“Or trying, too,” he confirmed.

She watched the figure parry and pirouette. As the recording ended, her smile fell away and she regarded Rhovan quietly. Luke was trying to train himself. The effort the boy was making both warmed her and chilled her. She knew about the Jedi, had lived and worked among them for much of the Clone Wars, and to have a Jedi among them again would give them the strength of the Force at their back. However, Luke’s training would be patchy at best, filled with second guesses and clumsy attempts at control. It might even draw further unwanted attention as the boy’s presence in the Force grew.

“Mi’lady?” Rhovan questioned, seeing an inner debate with her.

“Rieekan informed me that Luke claims that he can sense Vader when he is near.” She sounded concerned again, anxious.

 “Yes,” Rhovan confirmed. Luke had hesitated, though, had been reluctant to say anything. He had avoided the whole issue during his debrief and hearing after Escaal and Ra’imar. Rhovan understood why: the boy didn’t want to acknowledge that he could sense the Dark Lord, didn’t want to bring undue attention, or suspicion, on himself.  The boy was scared about what the connection might mean.

“We believe that is how he knew that Ra’imar was in danger,” Rhovan offered.

“And can Vader sense Luke?”

Rhovan hesitated, considered his answer carefully. Mon Mothma was concerned that Luke’s presence on the base, on any base, may give their location to the Dark Lord. Luke’s future with the Alliance could be in doubt, could hinge on the response to this question: which is precisely what Luke had hoped to avoid by keeping that information to himself.

“That is not something that we can predict with any certainty,” he started slowly, watching Mon Mothma’s reaction. “Luke believes that his ship was tagged in the battle because Vader knew it was him. However, it may just have been coincidental.”

He paused, and then reminded her, “Mi’lady, Luke has been here on Adralii for several weeks. I think if the Dark Lord could sense him as easily as that we would not be having this conversation.”

Mothma covered her mouth with her hand, massaged her cheeks. Her eyes flicked to the window as the ash fall beyond thickened, obscuring the prefabricated buildings across the compound. She closed her eyes, the pain of regret, the weight of office flashing briefly over her features.  She had more to worry about than the wellbeing of just one pilot. However, that one individual may just carry the fate of their entire struggle on his young shoulders: a burden that Luke could do without.

 “So,” she broke the silence. “Where do we go from here?”

Rhovan was surprised at the relief he felt at Mothma accepting his answer. “Rieekan has suspended him from active duty and ordered further psychiatric evaluation.” He knew the General had already told her this. “As I said earlier, the Cusrean mission has not helped his emotional or mental state. He needs to recover and Rieekan has given him an indefinite period of time to do so.”

“And if Vader comes looking for his son among us?”

Rhovan shrugged. “Mi’lady,” he offered, a little condescendingly, “Vader will be looking for us regardless of his son’s location.”

She stood and crossed to the window, ignoring his mild insubordination, seeing the truth in his words. The ash was falling heavier, thicker and she asked the question she had asked before, the one that he had failed to truly answer.

“Did we make a mistake in sending him?”

“Yes, Mi’lady, we did.”

ooOOoo

The sleep that had so easily claimed him while he waited for General Rieekan and Major Anders now eluded him. He lay on the bunk in the Falcon’s crew quarters, hands behind his head staring through the darkness at the ceiling above him. He couldn’t close his eyes either, he was afraid to close them; terribly scared of what images he would see behind them.

_The flames. When the flames..._

He heaved in a breath, dismissed the whispered words before they could fully form. He didn’t want that thought completed, didn’t want to acknowledge the meaning of it or what it would tell him.

He licked his lips, swallowed as his stomach turned, churning the beer he had consumed earlier with Han and Chewbacca.

He was grateful to them both. They hadn’t told him how sorry they were, hadn’t tried to placate him with platitudes about how it wasn’t his fault, how he was following orders or that the Empire was to blame for what had happened. On his arrival at the Falcon, Han had simply handed him an ice pack for his knuckles, a clean dressing and another bottle of beer.

They had talked, but not about Cusrean, or Escaal, or the war. They had talked of inconsequential things, of little things: the latest repairs on the Falcon, setting up a betting pool on when the mountain would finally blow and send a pyroclastic flow to sweep the base away. They had discussed the futility of collecting winnings when everyone would be dead anyway.

 Han told a string of bawdy jokes while Luke struggled to breathe as he laughed and snorted beer through his nose. They had played Dejarik into the early hours and Chewbacca beat them both.

Now he was drunk: but not drunk enough. His mind was still sharp, his thoughts still coherent. The warm buzz and haze of alcohol had refused to descend and he had only realised that he was intoxicated when he had tried to stand up and found that his knees had somehow softened and his legs refused to obey his commands to walk.

Han had laughed, helped steady him and they had staggered together toward the crew quarters on the Falcon. Solo had unceremoniously dumped him on one of the bunks and had then fallen into the other. The Corellian was almost instantly asleep leaving Luke lying alone, in the dark, with only his thoughts and the occasional snorts from Han, for company.

He turned onto his side, tried to sit up, winced and waited as the whole world did a slow turning loop around him. He gagged as nausea surged and he barely made it to the small fresher before he vomited. Kneeling on the floor he laid his forehead against the cool metal of the bowl lip waiting for the queasiness to fade. He heaved, was sick again, as cool sweat popped on his brow.

“Shit,” he whispered, feel wretched and worn.

There was a soft ‘harrumph’ from the doorway and the fresher interior light was switched on.

Luke groaned, winced in the light. “Sorry, Chewie.”

The Wookiee murmured softly and Luke shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said. It was becoming his mantra and he wondered if he kept saying it if would he actually start believing it himself. “I’m fine. Just, you know... sick.”

He laughed at that.

_Sick..._

“’Shoulda had something to eat...” He wiped at his chin with the back of hand and, using the fresher sink for leverage, he pulled himself up. He held onto the wall for support as he waited for the deck to settle, then he ran the water, splashed his face as Chewbacca tried again.

Luke grabbed a towel, shook his head in answer to Chewie and immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness purled through him. His stomach heaved again, but he fought it, pushed it away and dried his face. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

He brushed passed the Wookiee, patting Chewbacca’s arm as he stepped into the passage way, grateful for his concern. “I just need some air, I’ll be back...”

With the troubled Wookiee watching his back, Luke weaved his way to the exit ramp, punching the hatch open and stepping down to the landing pad. He stopped under the Falcon, gazing out over the dimly lit area as particles of ash fell from the sky, the smell of heat and sulphur scorching the night air. He looked toward the mountain, saw the sky around the volcano’s crater blazing red.

“That’s not good,” he mumbled as he fumbled through his pockets for something to wrap around his nose and mouth. He came up empty, shrugged and pulled the neck of his jacket up instead. He bent his head down to protect his face, his eyes, and stepped out of the Falcon’s shelter.

He walked as carefully as he could across the empty landing field, eyes narrowed as he tried to make out directions in the thickening ash fall. It was quiet, eerily so, his footsteps deadened by the rising deposits on the ground. It wasn’t long before he was completely disorientated and covered in ash and grit from the mountain. He stopped, looked around and wasn’t even sure if he was still on the landing zone. He could see nothing, could make out no shapes that might give him an idea of where he was.

A crack of thunder rolled across the area, a flash of lighting briefly lit up the night: but still the falling ash obscured his way.

_I’m lost..._

He closed his eyes, tried to pull the Force to him, to use it to guide his way.

“Use the Force, Luke,” he whispered to himself and giggled, the sound strained, hysterical.

Now he decides to trust it? Now he decides to listen to it? Where was his trust earlier when he pulled the trigger and ended the lives of twenty thousand people?

_You felt them. You felt them..._

There was a muffled scrape of footsteps behind him and his eyes snapped opened, the Force forgotten as he turned around and was blinded by a flashlight shining in his face.

“Identify yourself!” The voice was sharp, female.

Luke narrowed his eyes against the brilliance of the light...

_Flames. When the flames arose, I felt..._

...held up his hand to shade his face and he mumbled, “Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker,” through the cloth of his jacket.

The light moved away to the side and Luke peered into the falling ash, trying to make out the soldier who stood close by. She was small, her face and head fully protected by a hat, scarf and goggles.

“You shouldn’t be out here, Sir,” she admonished. “It isn’t safe.”

“I needed fresh air,” he explained.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, sarcasm underscoring her words. “You’ll get a lot of that out here tonight, Sir.”

Luke frowned at her tone, drew himself straighter, ready to reprimand her when she stepped forward, peering at him from beneath her goggles.  He staggered back, had to catch himself.

“Are you drunk, Sir?”

“I’m not on duty, trooper,” he told her, annoyed.

“Then you shouldn’t be at the landing field, Sir!” she retorted in kind. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot first. Come on, you can’t stay out here in this,” she offered, reaching out and taking his arm. “I’ll walk you back.”

 “You don’t know where I’ve come from,” he protested, but he allowed her to move him, allowed her to walk him, her torch light practically useless in the ash fall.

“I think I do, Sir,” she replied, softly and Luke knew she wasn’t talking about the Falcon, she was talking about Cusrean, about Ra’imar and Escaal.

His throat constricted. He heaved a breath in through cloth, trying to contain his feelings that this soldier had so suddenly brought to the fore with her kindness and understanding. He knew who she was; she was the sergeant injured by Vader’s lightsaber on Ra’imar when she had saved him from being captured and returned to an Imperial cell. Thecla.

He walked in silence with her, feet scuffing and scrunching through the deepening ash. They were both covered, both dirty, by the time they reached the closed doors of the X-Wing hangars. Luke’s eyes stung and burned from the abrasive particles, tears trailed clean paths through his ash covered face. The soldier hammered on the metal and it shunted to the side.

“I found this wandering,” she announced to the grease-smeared face that peered out as thunder rolled and lightening danced above them.

The door opened wider and the soldier led him into the main body of the hangar. Luke blinked through bleary eyes trying to make out the cavernous area. It was a difficult scene to take in; despite the activity, the shouting, the welding, and hammering it seemed quiet. Where there was space for dozens fighters there sat only eight; two that had no pilots and the six that had returned from the battle.

“Is this the last of them?” she asked the Tech. “Because, guys, I have better things to do than round up strays.”

Luke blinked trying to clear his vision and hissed with pain as grit scraped his eyes. “Thecla, thank you.” And he didn’t mean just for helping him, he also meant for saving his life on Ra’imar.

He sensed a smile beneath the protective wrappings. “No problem, Lieutenant-Commander. Good Night, sir.”

She turned and left as a voice rang out from somewhere above him.

“Dammit, Skywalker! What the hell were you doing out in that? Look at the state of you.”

He groaned: Ysabel. He tried to look up at the X-Wing as someone thumped to the floor next to him.

“Someone fish out the first aid kit. Get me some eye wash before he does any more damage to himself.”

Luke stamped his feet, shook himself and brushed at his hair and clothing with his hands dislodging a cloud of ash.

“Get away from my ship!” she reprimanded. “Do you have any idea what damage that stuff can do?”

Strong hands took hold of him, turned him around and propelled him in a different direction.

“And what the hell has Solo been plying you? You smell worse than Antillies and Hobbie combined.”

“Yizzi, I...”

“Sit down,” her voice order.

Her hands pushed at his chest and he fell back into a soft chair.

“Get your head back.”

“Yizzi, I...” he tried again.

She took his chin in her hand, pushed his head back and clean, purified water was poured into his eyes, washing away the particles of ash. He blinked, opened his eyes and saw Ysabel’s blurry outline before that too was washed away by more water.

“Dammit, Skywalker, you’re lucky not to do yourself permanent damage. You should still see the medics once it clears out there.”

A towel was thrown at him, caught him in the face. He dried himself, blinked and looked around. He was in the tech’s billet to the side of the hanger and sitting in a scuffed and tatty two-seater that looked as though it had been salvaged from a garbage scow. There were rows of bunks further back and in the ones closest to him he could clearly see the dishevelled heads of Wedge Antilles and Derek Klivian; both asleep.

“Wes?” he asked, his throat dry.

“He’s here, two bunks down. The new kid, too.” She sat beside him. “They’ve all found their way here tonight and in the same state as you. Rough day,” she finished.

Luke didn’t answer, didn’t want to acknowledge her words, or the understatement. He was suddenly ashamed. He had been worried for the rest of the squad, he had been horrified that so few had made it home...

... _told about home..._

... had been relieved that Wedge, Hobbie and Janson had made it through: but he hadn’t thought about the impact the attack had had on them. He had been thinking only of himself because he had been the one to take the shot, he had been the one who had...

_...felt them..._

...destroyed the facility and the lives of twenty thousand civilians.

However, the squadron were all feeling it because the mission had not been about one person, one pilot. It had been about them all.

“They came to check out their ‘Wings, or so they claimed,” Ysabel was saying. She knew that had only been the partial truth, as they had all immediately asked her about the pilot now sitting beside her: the pilot who was unnaturally quiet, even for him. “So what are you here for?”

 “I got lost,” he told her, for it was the truth: he had been lost since Escaal. Suddenly, he didn’t want to be alone anymore. Alone meant he would have to listen to his own voice, alone meant silence and memories best avoided. “Sit with me?”

“Sure, Luke...”

She sat with him in silence, listening to the other technicians working in the main hangar beyond. She stayed while the alcohol worked through his system and his breathing deepened as he gradually fell asleep. Only then did she get up and lay him down. She grabbed a blanket from the nearest bunk and covered him as he mumbled, whispered in his sleep, wondering what his dreams were about and what part the words “flames” and “pleasure” played in them.

ooOOoo

_“Bring him.”_

_Strong fingers dug into the flesh of his upper arms as he was dragged forward by the soldiers and forced to walk behind the Dark Lord. He struggled, pulled on the cuffs that bound his hands behind his back, tried to wrench away from the trooper’s grips. More soldiers fell in around him in response to his efforts as he was escorted from the hangar and hauled through the corridors of the ship until they reached a bank of elevators._

_One of the doors slid open and he was pushed forward into the enclosed space with the Dark Lord._

_As the turbo lift moved Luke tried to gather his thoughts, tried to calm himself and not give into his despair. His heart hammered, his mouth was dry, his breathing quick. He could feel his body trembling with fright, could feel solid fear roll in his belly._

_He couldn’t do this again; he couldn’t sit in a tiny cell and wait for them to come for him. He couldn’t be subjected to the questions and the drugs and the pain and be asked to betray his friends._

_He hung his head, coughed; air barking through his sore throat. He started when the door slid to the side and, terrified of finding himself on the detention level, he tried to resist. He planted his boots on the floor, locked his muscles and fought as they pulled on his arms. His knees were kicked from under him and he was yanked forward._

_Confusion shook him when he saw he was on the bridge. Silence fell over the watching crew in the pits as he was manhandled across to the observation window with Vader at his back._

_Why had he been brought here?_

_“Have you ever seen the consequences of your actions?” Vader asked him, breaking the quiet._

_Luke swallowed, said nothing, kept his eyes to the deck. He didn’t understand this._

_“What did the Force tell you of your target?” the Dark Lord wanted to know._

_Luke started; the question shaking him even as his mind answered._

Innocence. I felt innocence.

_“Look at what you have done, Rebel.”_

_Luke resisted the temptation to lift his head, to shift his eyes to the space beyond. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see, didn’t want to show any compliance to his captor._

_The Dark Lord’s hand clamped painfully on his upper arm and he was taken from his guards. Another gloved hand encircled the back of his neck and he was pushed forward to stand in front of the Dark Lord; his head forced up, his face forward._

_“You will look, or you will be made to look,” he was warned._

_Reluctantly, Luke lifted his eyes to look at the view beyond the ship, knowing that he would need all his strength for later, knowing that any injury now would make it more difficult to withstand them later..._

_Wreckage floated in space; twisted pieces of metal were scattered through the area creating an artificial asteroid field that the huge cruiser slowly moved through. There were durasteel struts that were bent and buckled, storage crates, panels, bulkheads, a TIE wing, a chair, and something else drifting in the debris field; other shapes among the metal that his mind refused to identify, that made him turn away and close his eyes._

_The hand on the back of his neck tightened, the Dark Lord’s fingers dug into the base of his skull and he could not bite back the quiet cry of pain._

_“You will look,” Vader cautioned again._

No....

_“You will see what you have done.”_

Please...

_The pressure on his neck and arm increased; the pain stealing his breath and his resolve. He opened his eyes once more._

_“Can you see her?” the Dark Lord asked, his voice chilling in its gentleness._

_There was child highlighted by the lights of the Imperial ship. A girl. No more than seven or eight years old. She was passing close to the viewing port, her long dark hair fanned out and frozen solid, her eyes wide, her expression one of surprise. There was a small burn on one of her cheeks, charring on her clothes._

_She gently bumped into the Executors shields and was sent tumbling away into open space._

_Luke moaned, his knees giving out and he would have sank to the floor had Vader released his grip._

_“Can you see them?”_

_He could._

_He could see them all. Bodies, and parts of bodies, tumbling and turning in cold space. Hundreds of them. Men, woman and children._

_So many children._

_So many..._

_“When you fired upon the station what did you feel?”_

_Luke hung in the Dark Lord’s grasp. Vader’s question was heavy with knowing, with understanding. Luke couldn’t answer, didn’t want to acknowledge that he had felt..._

...them. I felt them....

...when the flames arose I felt...

_The pressure on his neck increased, an agony so tight he thought his neck would simply snap. He gasped, tried to struggle, to fight against his situation, against the truth that the Dark Lord was forcing upon him..._

With a suppressed scream catching his breath Luke’s eyes flew open. His heart pounded in his chest as his sight adjusted to the darkness of the bunk room. He could make out a ceiling far above him, shouts and banging from the cavernous hanger next door as the techs continued to work on the X-Wings. He was lying in one of the mechanic’s bunks, as all the squad were; stuck here for yet another night as the ash fell outside.

He heaved in a breath of relief as he tried to slow his heart, tried to calm the tremors of fright that coursed through his muscles.

The dream had been so real. His neck and head throbbed where Vader’s hand had clenched them. He could still see the detail of the bridge, the watching crew as he had been forced to look upon the remains of the Cusrean station. The remains of the people he had killed.

The little girl.

He closed his eyes against the echo of the dream but the image stayed with him; replaying on his eyelids.

A child falling through space.

A little girl he had killed.

_You knew. You felt them. You felt her..._

 He turned onto his side and winced as his stiff neck protested. His head pounded with the beginnings of another hangover, the stale after taste of the beer he had consumed with the squad and techs the night before lingering in his dry mouth.

“Hey, Luke?” Antilles whispered from the bunk below. “’You okay?”

Luke cringed, wondering how much of his nightmare Antilles had heard. “I’m fine, Wedge. Just a dream. Go back to sleep...”

“You’re the boss, Boss,” Wedge concurred, sleepily. The bunk shook and the springs creaked as the other pilot moved, turning over and settling back into sleep

Luke lay awake staring into the darkness, seeing the girl twisting and turning in the debris field.

_...when the flames arose..._

ooOOoo

Darth Vader turned from Ozzel, waving him silent as he concentrated. He had felt something, a tremor in the Force; his son’s elusive presence rose and fell for just a moment before ebbing and trickling away.

He eagerly followed the echo and...

... _I felt..._

A thrill ran through Vader as he latched onto the feelings; the anguish and horror. He stretched out, reached out, to grasp the fading embers of Luke’s emotions.

Darkness.

There was darkness about his son and Vader smiled with pride, with satisfaction, as he pursued his son’s thoughts to their just conclusion: a conclusion that Luke resisted and refused to acknowledge.

_...when the flames arose I felt..._

It was the same feelings he had struggled with himself after he had slaughtered the Tuskens who had murdered his mother. He had taken his revenge on them; he had revelled in their deaths. With each stroke of his lightsaber, with each mother’s scream when he had wrenched their child from their arms, he had felt consumed by the very emotion that his son now shied away from and denied.

It was only later, only once he had calmed and had time to think about what he had done that the horror had hit him and he had found himself in the Lars’ garage looking at his hands; trying to understand how he could have carried out the act, how he could have felt delight in such a gruesome act.

He had tried to justify the killings to Padme, had tried to convince himself that the Tuskens deserved to die for what they had done, but he had heard the boast in his voice...

_“...not just the men, but the woman and the children...”_

...and had fought to cover it with rage and grief.

He had been horrified not only by what he had done, but by the feelings that it evoked in him: just as Luke was horrified by his own actions.

It was only later that he came to terms with what had happened, only later that he realised that the incident had given him the strength to do what had come after.

“ _Master Skywalker, there are too many of them...”_

Palpatine had shown him the true path, had shown him that these feelings were not to be ignored, not to be shunned, but to be nurtured and coveted for they were the passion of the Dark Side.

They were power.

It was time to flush his son out of hiding; it was time to show Luke the true nature of the power he was denying.

The Dark Lord turned to Ozzel. “Have a holonet crew and reporter brought to the bridge, allow them access to record the recovery operation.  Release Skywalker’s name to the news casts as the pilot who destroyed the station. Triple the bounty on his head and stress that he should be taken alive.”

Although clearly puzzled, Ozzel bowed his assent. “It shall be done, my Lord.”

ooOOoo

It was two days before the winds changed significantly enough for the skies above the Alliance outpost to clear. At the same time, the belching ash, steam and gases gradually subsided as the volcano’s activity fell away to its previous rumbling and occasional plumes of smoke and ash. The base came to life as the personnel ventured out into the compound and the landing zone to start the task of clearing away   the accumulated ash, dust and grit that had piled on buildings, vehicles and on the starships that had lain in the open on the landing pad.

It had taken two more days just to clear the airfield for flights to resume. The first flight out was a fighter patrol of the system.

Commander Narra, Wedge and the rest would be suiting up, trading banter and insults as they made their way from the briefing room to their ships. And he wasn’t with them. He was stuck in this small room gazing out of a grimy window at the continuing operation to clean up the volcanic debris. His stomach twisted with anger and frustration at having to sit here while the Rebellion continued on all around him. He wanted to be with the squad, wanted to climb back into his ship and try and makes some amends for his actions above Cusrean.

_“Luke! Wake up! We’re gonna get pulverized!”_

_“We’ve lost Twelve, we’ve lost Triani.”_

_“Refugees....”_

He chilled, wanting to close his eyes against the memories, against the voices that echoed within; raw and scathing.

It was because of him that so many of the squad had lost their lives. It was because of him that so many innocent beings had been killed...

_... massacred..._

...when he took the shot.

And the fact that no one blamed him, no one was holding him accountable for his actions made him feel worse; he wanted, needed, someone to point and say, “You were wrong.”

He chewed on a ragged nail, watching as yet another loader full of debris was hauled off to a nearby dump site outside of the compound. He studied his hands, his fingers dirty, his palms engrained with volcanic ash despite the scrubbing he had given them before he attended his appointment.

He had been helping Han clean the Falcon and after two days of hard labour they had made good progress; the hull of the Falcon was emerging from beneath the thick layer of ash. While they toiled outside, Chewbacca worked from within checking through the ships systems ensuring that no dust or grit had worked its way into the engines and other essential systems.

The Falcon was almost flight ready.

There was a murmur in the room, someone speaking softly, and Luke had to concentrate on the voice, had to pull himself from his thoughts to the here and now and focus on what Therriman was saying to him.

 “... any more flashbacks and dreams?”

The Mirialan doctor leaned forward, his posture open, inviting his patient to respond. His dark eyes blinked slowly, as his hand scratched absently at the tattoo across the yellow-green of his cheek.

Luke closed his eyes, knowing his reaction to the question had answered it.

“The same ones?”

Luke shook his head, clearing his throat. Instead of the cell on Escaal, his dreams had been of Vader and the dead child. He rubbed the back of his neck, recalling Vader’s hand clamped at the base of his skull. “The mission.”

 “Luke,” Therriman sat forward, he always sat forward when he wanted to make a point, “you do understand that what happened at Cusrean was not your responsibility.”

Luke swallowed, looked to the ceiling, tired of hearing the same thing from his commanders and his friends and now his doctor. The only ones who hadn’t offered the platitudes were Han, Leia and Wedge; they seemed to understand, seemed to know what he needed and it wasn’t to be continually told that what had happened wasn’t his fault. However, even they refused to blame him, even they didn’t tell him it was his fault.

“Luke?” Therriman prompted, seeing that he had lost the young human’s attention.

Luke dragged his eyes back to the analyst. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” the doctor asked. “Sorry for what, Luke?”

Luke stared blankly at him. Sorry....

_...Sorry to have fired the shot that killed those people, sorry that Leia suggested him for the mission, sorry that Ra’imar fell, sorry about Escaal and what had happened to him there. Sorry for the Death Star, sorry that Biggs was killed, that Ben was killed, that his aunt and uncle were murdered, that the Jawas brought the droids to them..._

He didn’t know where to begin with the word ‘sorry.’

“I’m, uh... my mind was elsewhere,” Luke avoided and explained, “I’ve been helping Han with the Falcon, I was thinking about that. The Falcon’s filters need to be removed and cleared.”

Therriman smiled, recognising Luke’s avoidance but playing along. “It’s good that you are keeping busy, Luke.”

“I’d rather be with my squad, sir,” Luke told him sharply.

“I’m aware of that, Luke,” the therapist confirmed, gently, “but you went back too early. Your treatment programme was incomplete and the events over Cusrean have been a setback. You were making good progress before the mission and I am confident that we can recover from this.”

Luke stared at Therriman with disbelief. “A setback?” he rasped, “I killed over twenty thousand innocent people. That’s not a setback that’s...” he trailed off, glancing away from the quiet analyst, knowing that Therriman has just worked around his avoidance and brought the mission back into the focus of the conversation.

“That’s what, Luke?”

Luke swallowed, shifted his eyes to the window and the activity beyond. “Murder,” he told the doctor quietly. “That’s murder.”

ooOOoo

“Report,” Sidious rasped at the tiny figure kneeling on the holographic display pad.

“Master,” his agent greeted. “Skywalker has been removed from active duty, pending a full psychiatric evaluation.”

The Sith Master laughed, smiled. If the Jedi had done the same with the boy’s father then Anakin might not have been so easy to turn. The young Jedi had been touched by darkness with the death of his mother, but the horrors of the Clone Wars had shaken him to the core, his trauma and fear of loss ignored by the Jedi and twisted by Palpatine.

“Then Lord Vader’s assertion that Skywalker took the shot is correct.”

It was a statement, not a question but still his agent answered. “Yes, master.”

“Then we shall bide our time. Lord Vader has sanctioned that his name be released to the public as the guilty pilot. This will work to our advantage; he will not remain hidden in the ranks for long.”

“There is more, Master. Skywalker has been trying to teach himself.” the voice crackled as the hologram flickered.

The Dark Lord hesitated.

_Interesting..._

“Explain,” he invited.

“He has been practising lightsaber skills with remotes. He... appears to be improving, master.”

Sidious pursed his lips, considering his servant’s words. So the boy had grown tired of having a power he barely used, or understood. He was attempting to instruct himself, trying to fulfil a potential left bereft of a teacher. His presence in the Force could only grow stronger, his light would become a beacon in the darkness, easy to find and extinguish; one way, or another.

The Dark Lord closed his eyes, seeking answers in the soothing shadows of the Force.

_A lightsaber flashing in darkness._

_Fury; a rage so dense, so strong that the waves of emotions battered even his senses with their intensity._

_And another presence..._

_Vader..._

_A father seeking out his son._

_A father seeking to guide his wayward child, to teach what the boy needed to know and recognise._

_“When the flames arose I felt...._

_No!_

_The lightsaber extinguishing as the boy collapsed in anguish and the father withdrew, his job done._

Sidious grinned behind his cowl as the vision faded. He turned his attention back to his patient servant. “You continue to please me, my friend. Go now, and carry on with your mission.”

The figure bowed as the connection ended.

The Emperor turned away to face the window of his private sanctuary and looked out across the skyline of Imperial Centre as night fell; the darkness now that little bit deeper.

ooOOoo

 “Godsdammit,” Solo cursed as the ash he had just swept into a heap blew and swirled around him in the wake of the landing X-Wings.

Luke, who was also sweeping a broom across the hull of Falcon, paused and laughed as the Corellian tried to re-sweep the pile of volcanic debris that had been redistributed by the returning fighters’ wash.

“Nothing could be worse than this hell hole,” Han muttered through the breathing apparatus he had retrieved from the Falcon, preferring it to the simple scarf that Luke had chosen to protect his airways. “I don’t know what you’re laughing at, kid, you’ve been day dreaming so much you’ve been brushing the same pile from one side of the ship to other. I oughta dock your wages.”

“You’re not paying me,” Luke reminded him easily, he blinked sweat from his eyes, wiped a hand across his brow. He felt sticky and grimy and was looking forward to a shower.

“That’s the best news I’ve had this week,” Han told him sourly, his eyes fixed on the mountain as another plume of steam belched into the air.

His comlink chirped and he fished it out of his pocket, pulling the mask from his face before he answered. “Solo.”

“Ah-huh,” he nodded.

Luke stopped brushing and turned to listen in interest.

“Ah-huh,” the Corellian said again, rolling his eyes at Luke and mouthing “Rieekan.”

He shook his head in response to something the General had said. “I’m not sure if I can get the Falcon out from under all this shi... huh... well, that’d be great, but....” Han listened, his eyes narrowing and sliding toward his waiting friend.

Luke glanced away as understanding and disappointment cut through him; Han was being offered another job for the Alliance and was worried about leaving him behind. That one small look from the Corellian was more telling than all the therapy that he’d had from Therriman since Escaal.

It told him he hadn’t been coping, that his friends were concerned, that his behaviour was affecting them, too.

“That much, huh? Well, I’ll come down and discuss it and...”

Luke couldn’t help but smile at the sudden change of pitch and tone in Solo’s voice. Rieekan must have offered more than the usual.

“She is?”

Luke’s stomach lurched, his eyes finding Han’s, worried that they were talking about Leia; that the Princess would be leaving, too.

And, in that moment, he knew what Rieekan’s offer was. The Alliance had been damaged by Cusrean, its reputation for fairness, justice and compassion damaged by the deaths of the refugees. Several systems were threatening to pull support, were clamouring for explanations and were dissatisfied by the silence from the Chief of State.

Leia was being sent on a diplomatic mission to mend what he had broken.

“Hey, kid?”

Han’s voice drew him from his thoughts. He tried to smile, tried not to show how much this was bothering him, told himself not to be so selfish. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow, oh-four hundred,” Han told him without preamble or apology. “Rieekan’s sending some help to clean the Falcon.”

Luke swept at the dust at his feet. “Leia, too?”

“You think her Highness would help sweep up?” Han grinned. “’Cos that’s something I’d pay to see.”

Luke gave him a withering look. “You know what I meant.”

Solo nodded. “Leia, too.”

Luke’s jaw clenched in response. He forced himself to relaxed, to speak through his disappointment. “Where are you going?”

“Classified,” Han told him. “I won’t know until we’re off planet and her Highness tells me.” He paused, regarded Luke for a moment and opened his mouth to make a suggestion.

Luke smiled, held his hand up. “No,” he told the spacer. “Before you ask again, I can’t go with you.”

ooOOoo

After walking down to the compound with Han, Luke had taken a long shower to rid his body of the sweat and grit of his hard labour.  After dressing in fresh clothes and strapping on his weapons belt, he left his room and headed across the compound to the communal eating area. With the Flight back the ravenous pilots would be hitting the mess hall as soon as the patrol debrief was over - if they hadn’t already beaten him to it. He planned to be among them. It was time to return to normality, time to put the events of the past behind him, to focus on the future and on convincing Therriman to pass him as fit.

He could no longer afford to wallow in the memories, the dreams and the flashbacks. He would deal with them when they occurred, but he would not allow them to affect his life, or his friends.

That one small look from Han had been all he needed to realise that.

He jogged across the grounds, weaving between the speeders, the droids and personnel, and bounded up the steps into the cafeteria. The noise hit him as soon as the door slid aside. There was a sudden burst of laughter from a group of ground troopers in the far corner and Luke hesitated, winced, hoping he was not the cause of it.

“Hey! Luke!” It was Janson, gesturing wildly at him to join him, Ylanec and Wedge. “Grab a plate while you can.”

Luke grinned as he joined the line of Alliance personnel at the counter; he knew they’d be here first. He eyed the steaming foods that were on offer. Not the best of choices, but it beat the emergency rations they had had to make do with when trapped in the hangar by the ash fall. He lifted a plate of vegetables and stew – not daring to ask exactly what it was – some cutlery and headed for his friends’ table.

“’Scuse me, sir!” A female soldier squeezed past him, smiled at him. Luke’s eyes followed her. He smiled at Thecla’s back watching as she seated herself at the ground troopers’ table.

“Cute butt, huh, Luke?” Wedge asked, slyly, noticing the direction of Skywalker’s gaze.

Luke tore his eyes away and grinned. “I don’t think of sex every time I look at a girl,” he admonished, placing his plate down and pulling over a vacant seat for himself.

“Sure you do,” Wedged shrugged. “You just don’t admit it.”

Luke ignored him, picked up his fork, and tossed a few chunks of vegetables about his plate. He speared a lump of meat and popped it in his mouth. He grimaced, chewed and swallowed. “How was the patrol?”

“Boring,” Janson told him.

“Routine,” Wedge added.

Luke glanced up at them, smiling, knowing that something had occurred, but that they were wary of telling him in case they hurt his feelings, in case they aggravated his chagrin at being grounded. It just reinforced his earlier thoughts; it was time to stop thinking about himself, time to join the world again.

“So what happened?” he encouraged.

“You will notice a certain person is missing, by reason of his absence,” Antilles said, indicating the table.

“Hobbie,” Luke noted. “So?”

Janson smirked. “Idiot only rubbed his foil against Narra’s.”

“What?” Luke burst, laughing.

“Narra said ‘form up on me’, right?” Wedge leaned forward, Luke did likewise eager to hear the story, enjoying the banter and camaraderie. “So Hobbie does, a bit too close for comfort, and his S-foil touches Narra’s. Pieces fall off.” Antilles did a little waving gesture with his fingers.

“And?” Luke prompted.

“The airwaves turned blue – never knew Narra knew those kinda words,” Janson continued with an air of surprise.

“And?” Luke asked again, relishing the moment.

“Hobbie’s on the carpet as we speak. And once Narra’s finished with him, Yizzi’s vowed to rip him a new one.”

“Ouch,” Luke winced.

“Ouch,” both Wedge and Janson echoed sombrely as Ylanec nodded in kind.

And, still smiling, at their fellow pilot’s misfortune, they turned their attention briefly back to their meal.

Someone turned on the holonet and sound and pictures crackled to life on the large screen fixed to the far wall of the commissary.

“So, what have you been up to, Luke?”

Luke glanced up and saw concern in Wedge’s eyes. It was the same concern he had seen in Han’s earlier. He shrugged, shovelled food in his mouth and spoke as he chewed. “Cleaning up the Falcon, that ash gets everywhere. We tried using water, but that stuff can harden like duracrete when...”

He trailed off as he noticed neither Wedge nor Janson were paying attention to him. Both pilots were turned away, gazing at the holonet. Luke’s eyes followed their direction.

“...vage operations continue today over Cusrean.” A newscaster’s voice-over. Pictures of a debris field in space, of a dark planet beyond, of ships moving slowly, of droids collecting twisted and blackened bodies. “The Emperor today repeated his condemnation of the attacks and vowed again that all of those involved will be apprehended and dealt with accordingly...”

Luke closed his eyes against the images. They were too close to his dreams.

 In his nightmare Vader had shown him his own unconscious interpretation of the consequences of his actions, now the holonet was showing him the reality. Those bodies on the screen were real people, not faceless entities conjured by his mind. It seemed fitting somehow, seemed right, that for once he should really be made see what he had done.

“To aid in the search,” the voice over continued, “His Imperial Majesty has today released the identity of the Rebel pilot who is believed to have fired the fatal shot.”

Luke’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. His own image was on the screen.

“Hell,” he heard Wedge mutter. “Luke?”

“Luke Skywalker. The name is already notorious after the battle of Yavin, where he is known to have killed in excess of one million loyal Imperial soldiers. The bounty on his head has been...”

“It’s propaganda, Luke, nothing more!” Wedge tried again as the holonet switched once more to the scenes of devastation, the pictures clearly recorded from the bridge of a ship. “It’s designed to make us feel bad...”

 “It works,” Luke told him, thickly, a corner of his mouth curling, his fists clenching, unable to draw his eyes away from the holonet. “Works real well.”

“Probably not even our target,” Janson injected, not sounding too convincing. “Probably staged.”

“You don’t believe that, Wes. Neither do I!” Luke snapped in anger. He ran a shaking hand through his hair.

“It was a mistake, Luke,” Wedge was saying. “We’re feeling it, too, but you... You’re feeling it worse because of Escaal, because of Ra’imar. Shit, Luke, it takes time to get over things like that.”

“Post Traumatic Stress,” Luke quoted, dully, “I’ve heard all of this before, Wedge. ‘Doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing there’s a name for how I feel.”

“Hi guys!” A subdued Hobbie interrupted, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice after his dressing down from Narra. He planted a plate onto the table and dropped, with a groan, into the empty seat next to Luke’s. “Narra’s got a tongue on him like a Vell’ian Lash Viper. Don’t know how...” He broke off, glanced at his friends, only just noticing the atmosphere. He frowned, narrowing his eyes at Luke. “What’s up?”

Wedge indicated the screen.

“Shit...” Klivian breathed, but still he ate.

Luke dropped his fork on the plate and pushed it away, his appetite destroyed by the pictures. He tried to drag his eyes away from the carnage but his gaze was caught as the camera’s suddenly focused on one of the victims.

He hitched a little laugh of anguish, stood and stumbled backward, his chair scraping on the floor. On the screen the body of a child floated passed the ship’s viewing port, her long hair fanned out, her young face frozen in surprise; the burn on her cheek, the charring of her clothes exactly as depicted in his dream. She struck the ship’s shielding and she turned and tumbled into space as he knew she would.

_She’s real!_

The child was real.

She had existed.

His legs trembled, his body shuddered in shock. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to turn. He felt stifled, felt tears of helplessness pool in his eyes, felt utterly desperate and desolate.

_She was real..._

And he had killed her.

 He looked around the room at the other Alliance personnel congregated there. Most eyes still on the screen, a few were sending glances the squad’s way, some were beginning to turn away from the horror and starting up stilted conversations.

He locked eyes with another and they stared at each other until she glanced away.

_The child was real.... How could she be real?_

Luke?” Wedge was saying again, watching the blood drain from Luke’s face.

Hobbie chewed his food, his eyes narrowing as he pointed his fork at the screen, too lost in thought to notice Luke’s reaction. “You know what I heard? I heard the intel for Cusrean came through that guy... what’s ‘is name, Wedge? The guy that brought Luke back from Escaal...”

“Rhovan,” Wedge supplied, automatically. He was still watching Luke.

“Yeah, that’s it, Rhovan...”

Luke turned on his heel and walked calmly from the room.

Hobbie turned, watched him go, glanced back at Antilles and Janson with a frown. “What’s up with him now?”

Wedge didn’t answer. He was looking instead at the doorway as the portal closed after Luke. Something was wrong. There was something about Luke’s composure as he turned away that unsettled Wedge: something more than just the newscast. He knew that, had Luke not gathered himself at Cusrean, had Luke not turned things around and fired on the target, then the guilt would have been on his own shoulders and Wedge didn’t know how he would have coped with that. It was bad enough having to deal with being a part of the squad, a part of the attack; but to be the one who took the fatal shot...

Skywalker was also struggling with whatever had happened on Escaal, had not yet to come to terms with whatever he had experienced there, had not spoken of it to his squad mates. Wedge had seen him on his return, though, had seen the punishment he had taken during his captivity; he knew that his friend had been tortured and he knew that the man who had returned with him had something to do with it.

The Imperial officer had helped Luke escape, but the man had worn the uniform of an Interrogation specialist.

Rhovan.

Wedge abruptly stood, suddenly realising where Luke was going. “Hobbie, go get Solo.”

“What? I’m just...”

“Go get Solo, now.” Antillies’ voice held no room for argument. He turned to the others. “Ylanic, Wes, you’re with me.”

ooOOo

Rhovan leaned over the monitor reading the decrypted information as it appeared on the screen. He frowned, tapped at the datapad in his hands and doubled checked the details of the incoming intelligence. Straightening, he put a hand to the back of his neck and stretched out the stiff muscles. He was starting to get a headache.

He looked at the data in his hands. It was a loose piece of information, one of those extraneous strands of Intel that initially doesn’t appear to mean much but may prove worthwhile once fitted together with other seemingly-superfluous details. He crossed the room to another console and leaned over the top of the young operator as she worked.

“Lieutenant, do we have anything from the Bothans about further developments in the Cusrean system?”

She shook her head. “Nothing, sir, the situation there remains static.”

“What about orders from Imperial Centre?”

“Nothing new, sir, the fleet there is still working to standing orders.”

“Then why is the Executor leaving?” Rhovan thought aloud, looking at the datapad in his hands.

He turned from her, crossed to the large panelled screen that held a star map of the Galaxy and tapped on it to bring up Cusrean and its surrounding systems. He studied the area, the distance between planets, the hyper space lanes, the Imperial worlds. He tapped the panel again widening the search, looking for the routes between Cusrean and the Rebel worlds without actually knowing what he was looking for.

Why was the Executor leaving and where was it going? He didn’t like that Vader’s route was unknown, didn’t like not knowing where Vader was going to turn up next.

His attention firmly on Vader’s next move, Rhovan barely acknowledged the door opening at his back. His fingers tapped the map again bringing a planet into focus and he narrowed his eyes as something connected in the back of his mind. There was something here that...

“Did you know?”

The voice behind him was ragged, torn with suppressed rage. He recognised its tones immediately.

“Did you know what was on that station?”

He turned around, had no time to move away, to step aside, before Skywalker’s clenched fist connected with his chin.

Rhovan staggered under the unexpected punch and, reacting instinctively, he brought his hand up in a backward swing, forgetting that he still held the datapad until it battered off Luke’s face. The powerful blow sent the younger man sprawling to the floor.

Rhovan wiped blood away from his lips as he bent down and offered Luke his hand. “Let me help you, Luke.”

It was the wrong thing to say, it was too close to what he had said to the pilot on Escaal as the boy had hung from chains, bloody and beaten, before him. He saw the flare of fear on Luke’s face, heard the cry of denial as the boy’s hands swept up and Rhovan found himself propelled backward by a powerful push. He crashed through the star maps, tumbled over the console and hit the far wall before landing hard on the floor.

Stunned, winded, he lay for a moment listening to the shouts of those in the room, the words indistinct through the whine in his ears. He pushed himself up, grabbed onto the wrecked console and dragged himself to his feet.

Luke was being lifted from the floor by his staff. The young man was struggling, shouting, pushing them away as they drew him to his feet.

“Leave him!” Rhovan barked. Luke’s eyes were glazed, his movements terrified, desperate. Rhovan recognised what was happening. Afraid of what might happen if this didn’t stop, he ordered, “Let him go!”

The boy was in the midst of a powerful flashback.

Rhovan moved around the side of the console as his staff released their hold. Luke was breathing heavily, bleeding badly from a gash in his cheek from where the datapad had caught him. He stood, hunched over, seeming confused, and looking like a shaak who’d just been released after branding; in pain and in shock.

“Luke?” Rhovan tried, keeping his voice soft as he took a cautious step forward. He put a hand up, palm out, trying to keep the boy’s attention on him, trying to talk him down. “We can end this now, if you...”

It was so fast that Rhovan only realised that Luke had gone for a weapon when the blue blade of the lightsaber suddenly appeared in the pilot’s hands and the hum of energy filled the otherwise silent room.

Rhovan stopped, dropped his hands to his side and motioned with a nod of his head to the other personnel in the room to back away. To do anything just now, to say any more to the youth would be suicide. All he could do was wait: wait for Luke to slowly emerge from his fugue state.

Rhovan licked his lips, tasted blood and watched as awareness gradually filtered into the blue eyes and Luke frowned; his gaze finding Rhovan’s, pupils widening in recognition. He stepped back. The lightsaber waved and Luke glanced at it, at the hands holding it. His head jerked up in shock: in horror.

The door opened at his back. There was a flurry of movement, a shout of dismay and a uniformed figure barrelled low into Luke’s legs, bringing him down.

The lightsaber extinguished and clattered to the floor.

More bodies barrelled into the room, grabbing Skywalker and hustling him into the corridor even though he fought against them.

A khaki-clad pilot bent down and picked up the fallen lightsaber. Straightening, turning, Wedge Antilles smiled at Rhovan. “I told you this wasn’t over…”

He paused, then drawled, “Sir,” before leaving the room.

Rhovan, let out a slow breath of relief as the door closed, muting the shouting from the hallway. He lifted a hand, wiping away the blood that trickled from his burst lip. The Lieutenant moved toward him but he waved her off. “Just continue your duties,” he told her, massaging his rib cage.

He had been dealt quite a blow when Luke had pushed him. He frowned…

 Luke had pushed him without touching him.

It reminded him of the interrogation droid on Escaal that Luke had sent spinning. It was as though the boy called on his Force powers instinctively when he felt threatened and he had to wonder what they would be like once Luke had mastered them and could summon them at will.

“Have a droid crew sent down to clear up this mess and effect repairs.” He ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the officer acknowledged.

Rhovan turned, his feet crunching in the debris of the star map as he bent down and picked up the discarded datapad. There was blood smeared on the back of it and he realised that he had hit Luke with some force. His hand returned to his own chin and prodded the bruised flesh gingerly, although Skywalker had landed a pretty strong punch himself.

_“Did you know what was on that station?”_

It had been days since the attack, days since the squad had been told of the civilian deaths on the Cusrean space station; why had Skywalker reacted now? What was the catalyst that had sent the boy into a blind rage and finally snapped his brittle control?

Rhovan used the sleeve of his jacket to clean the smeared blood from the datapad. He punched up the information he had accessed earlier and read over it again. The Executor was breaking orbit and leaving Cusrean, its destination unknown.

“Lieutenant,” he lifted his eyes from the pad to the officer’s monitor, wanting to work quickly before any of Rieekan’s Security goons descended to find out what had happened. “Bring up all the intelligence that has come from Cusrean in the last two hours, include holonet reports.”

He scanned the information as it flickered across the screen and noted that the most recent holonet broadcast on the tragedy had been aired only a few minutes before Luke had attacked him. He played the recording, listened as the reporter named Skywalker as the guilty pilot, watched as the recovery operation was portrayed in detail; the close up shots of victims, burned bodies, twisted limbs and hideous injuries. He paused the picture, leaned in closer noticing the ship from which the pictures were taken. It was the bridge of a Star Destroyer, he had been on one often enough to know the layout and the shape of the viewing ports, but these ones seemed larger, seemed to suggest a greater size of ship than the class II.

_The Executor?_

Straightening he massaged his sore chin, lost in thought. It would appear that Vader had stayed to oversee most of the recovery, had allowed news crews on his ship as the Empire milked the tragedy for their propaganda.

Propaganda that had now reached Luke; sending the boy tipping over the edge and leaving him raw and unstable and, now that his job was done, Vader was leaving the system.

ooOOoo

Luke fought against the hands that grasped him, that pulled and dragged him along the hallway. He was aware of voices, aware that he was yelling, that others were shouting at him, but all meaning was lost to the panic that blinded him, that deafened him. He didn’t know where they were taking him, didn’t know if he was headed for that cell again and...

_...Dade..._

_...something about Dade..._

... if he was going to be fitted to that line again, dragged off his feet and suspended helpless and open to whatever they wanted to do to him, however they wanted to hurt him, whatever drugs they wanted to pump into his blood stream.

A door opened and he was hauled through it. It was dark, it was cool and he planted his feet down, leaned back and dropped loosely, using his weight to drag his captors down. There were curses as his guards stumbled, losing their hold on him as they fell.

Luke rolled in the dirt and dust...

... _dirt?..._

... pushed himself up, only to be caught again and pushed to the ground. He was turned over and held down by a hand on his chest, another was placed against his injured cheek.

 A new voice said. “Luke. Kid, it’s me!”

_Han?_

He glanced up at the face that hovered over him in the dimness. His eyes slid to the side and he saw stars in the sky, smelled sulphur in the air. He looked back at the Corellian; still not quiet believing his friend was there.

“Han?” He asked, hoarsely, trying to shake off the confusion from his mind.

“Yeah, kid, it’s me,” Solo smiled with relief, watching as focus returned to Luke’s eyes. He moved back, helped Luke sit up and motioned to the other pilots to keep back for now. The moment he had seen Janson and the new kid dragging Luke from the building with Wedge coming at their back he had known what was happening.

He had seen it before in those whose experience of trauma was so great that a simple word or action would throw them back into the images and emotions of the events they had tried desperately to escape and forget. Flashbacks could be so strong that the individual actually believed that they were back in that terrible moment, that they were once again in the midst of battle or that they were about to crash and burn.

Han would love to get his hands on the bastard that had hurt the kid so badly.

Luke touched his cheek with a shaking hand and hissed in pain. “What happened?” he asked, hazily, noticing Wedge, Hobbie, Janson and the new pilot standing close by.

“You don’t remember?” Han asked with some concern, his gaze moving from Luke to the Security Corps building, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before word got out. He had to get the kid out of here before Rieekan had him arrested for assaulting an officer

Luke shook his head, trying to dislodge the mist in his mind. “I.. just remember watching the holonet...”

_... a little girl..._

_...the little girl I killed..._

...and, I...” He broke off as realisation sank in. He remembered the holonet, remembered the horror at seeing his victims splashed across the screen in vivid colour. He remembered Hobbie talking about Rhovan, he remembered his anger, the rage that had fallen over him and his decision to find the Major and confront him.  

His stomach twisted with anxiety, consternation caught the back of his throat. “I went speak to Dade... I... mean... Rhovan and....” He looked at Han. “I think I hit him. After that... it’s a little blank.” He frowned, trying to remember the events after leaving the mess hall. “Did I hit him?”

Han sank back on his heels looked up at Antilles for the answer. The pilot nodded and handed over Luke’s lightsaber. With a sinking heart, Solo took the weapon; knowing what it meant. Luke had pulled a weapon on a superior officer.

“Yeah, you hit him, kid.” Han didn’t understand this, didn’t understand why Luke would attack the man who had saved his life and rescued him from Escaal. “But, why’d you hit him?”

Luke frowned, seemed perplexed that Han didn’t know. “It was him, Han,” he explained as though it was easy to understand. “All of this is because of him.”

“Solo,” Wedge warned, he nodded to the Security building as troopers began emerging.

“Come on, Luke,” he kept an eye on the soldiers as he got an arm under Luke and helped him to his feet. “We need to get you out of here.” He handed Luke to Klivian and Janson who closed about him. Wes removed Luke’s blaster from its holster as they began to walk him up the incline to the landing zone.

Solo caught Antilles sleeve, gave him back the lightsaber. “Get him to the Falcon and stay with him,” he glanced at the doorway the squad had dragged Luke from. “I’m gonna try and smooth things over.” He hesitated, glanced back at Luke, then asked. “Do you know what Luke was talking about?”

Antilles face darkened and said all he needed to say. “Rhovan was an Imperial Interrogation specialist on Escaal.”

ooOOoo

Rhovan wiped at his lip again. Damned thing just wasn’t going to stop bleeding and he turned as the door opened again. Instead of Rieekan or his troopers he found himself facing Skywalker’s Corellian friend.

He stepped forward. “How’s Luke?”

Solo’s punch was more accurate, more practised and Rhovan found himself on the floor, blood pumping from his nose, as the Corellian stepped closer. He tried to push himself up, but stopped as Han towered over him and pointed at the floor, warning him.

 “Stay down!”

Solo turned and left the room, shouldering passed several of Rieekan’s men as they crowded into the doorway.

ooOOoo

Luke sat on the deck plates next to the dejarik board, his legs splayed on the floor, his back against the side of the acceleration couch. Wedge was slouched in the chair by the engineering station, Hobbie lay on his back on the couch, Wes had his head in his hands and his elbows balanced on the deactivated gaming board and Ylanic was taking the first watch in the Cockpit ready to warn them should any Security personnel approach the ship. 

Artoo Detoo stood beside Luke his optical receptor watching his young master.

All were silent as they waited for Han Solo to return; the only sound came from the open deck gratings near the entrance of the passenger compartment where Chewbacca continued to work. The Wookiee glanced over with concern at the quiet pilots every time he popped up to select a different tool.

Luke gingerly touched his injured cheek, feeling the blood crusting over the cut. He laid his head against the couch side and followed the conduits in the Falcon’s ceiling with his eyes, but he didn’t really see them, he wasn’t thinking about them.  

The walk to the Falcon had cleared his head, but his memory of what had happened remained hazy and unclear. He could recall the holonet pictures clearly; he knew he’d spoken with Wedge and Hobbie. He remembered leaving the mess hall, vaguely remembered throwing a punch at Rhovan but, after that, he only had a few flickers of images and feelings. He remembered rage, remembered being on the floor and Rhovan standing over him. He remembered terror, and holding his lightsaber in his hands.

His lightsaber.

He’d drawn a weapon?

“Shit,” his head dropped, his knees drew up, his feet flat to the floor. He’d assaulted a commissioned officer in the execution of his office, he’d drawn a weapon. He was facing a court-martial. “shit...”

He was aware of heads lifting to look at him, but he ignored them until his friends had returned to their own thoughts.

He was grateful to the squad, grateful that they had come for him, that they had risked their own standing and positions in the Alliance to stop him. Now they were all facing consequences because of him; because they had helped him, had ushered him away from the scene before he could be taken into custody. Now they were accessories and facing similar sanctions to his own.

_“Look at what you have done.”_

Vader’s voice from his dream echoed and he closed his eyes against the images it conjured, tried to fight his mind’s eye and failed.

_The little girl with the burn on her cheek._

_“You will see.”_

Luke lifted his head, looked at his friends sitting with him. Wedge was lying back in the chair, his hands behind his head trying to act indifferent and nonchalant but Luke could see the tension in his body, the frown on his face. Hobbie was nervously tapping his foot on the couch in time to a rhythm that only he could hear. Wes was fidgeting with the controls of the deactivated Dejarik board and Chewbacca was working through it all.

_“You will see.”_

The Dark Lord’s nightmare tones persisted and he glanced back to Wedge, to the engineering station and saw his lightsaber sitting on the console.

He swallowed, licked his lips; the weapon taking up his whole attention.

The Dark Lord was right. He had seen, but he didn’t see.

In his dream Vader had shown him consequences, had shown him the devastation wrought by the touch of a button. The holonet had reinforced that, had shown him that the child of his dreams had been real, but still he refused to acknowledge the true nature of what had happened above Cusrean; the truth about himself.

_“Your pathetic attempts at drawing upon the Force have only prolonged your suffering.”_

He had used the Force on Escaal; had sent the droid back with a push, he had used it to bolster his strength when he faltered, when he was sorely tempted to tell them what they wanted just to end the pain. On Ra’imar he had sensed Vader’s attack through the Force. He had tried to teach himself, to train with his lightsaber as Obi-Wan had taught him and had touched the Force for a short while.

But above Cusrean he had failed to listen to his feelings, to what gut instinct was telling him.

_“You will see.”_

Vader was right. He needed to see. He needed to listen to the Force and to what it was telling him.

He pushed himself to his feet and immediately the others sat up.

“’You okay, Luke?”

“I’m fine,” he repeated his mantra, trying to placate Wedge, knowing his fellow pilot wasn’t going to like this.

He crossed the compartment and hunkered down next to the open deck plates. The Wookiee’s head immediately appeared and Chewie wuffed a question.

Luke shrugged, understanding the nuance it. “I’m fine, I...” He trailed off, seeing his lie reflected in the concern of his friend’s eyes. He shook his head, gave a little smile. “I’m not fine, Chewie, I...” he looked at the deck plates, at the tools strewn on the floor. He lowered his voice to a bare whisper knowing that Chewie could still hear him. “I need some time alone, I need to try something and... well,” he gestured behind him, aware of Wedge Antilles and the other watching him. “I need your help to get my lightsaber from Wedge.”

Chewbacca shook his head, argued.

“Chewie, please trust me,” he pleaded, still whispering. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid.”

He’d already done something stupid.

“This is something I have to do; something the Force is telling me to do.”

The Wookiee was quiet for a moment, his blue eyes regarding his friend as he weighed up Luke’s words. He grunted, nodded, and pulled himself up and out from the innards of the ship and immediately walked over to the engineering station.  

Wedge sat up straighter then stood in apprehension as the Wookiee approached, wondering what the hell Luke was up to and knowing that he wasn’t going to like it.

Chewbacca bared his teeth, growled low in his throat, and Wedge jumped, moved back a little. “Hey, Chewie, I...”

Hobbie and Janson also stood as Chewbacca picked up Luke’s lightsaber and handed it back to its owner.

Luke clipped the lightsaber onto his belt and smiled at his friends. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Wedge stepped forward. “Luke, whatever you’re going to do...”

“Isn’t anything you need to worry about, you’re in enough trouble as it is,” Luke grinned, the expression seeming out of context for the situation and Wedge’s concern for Luke’s state of mind deepened. 

“Luke, Han’ll be back soon, he’s expecting you to be here,” Antilles took a further step toward Skywalker only to have his way blocked by Chewbacca. He raised his hands as Chewie snarled, sending him lurching backward. “Okay...okay...” he conceded.

“I’ll see you in lock up, Wedge,” Luke announced. “Come on, Artoo,”

The little droid blooped assent and followed his master from the ship.

Hobbie dropped back onto the couch. “Friggin’ hell,” he cursed. “Solo’s gonna be pissed.”

ooOOoo

Leia sat at the back of the room, her head in her heads as she listened to Solo and Rieekan argue. She had a raging headache, brought on by too much stress and too little sleep and she was wracked with guilt. Over the last few days she hadn’t seen Luke. She had been locked in negotiations with outraged allies, had been trapped like many in a building by the falling ash and had spent days setting up the diplomatic mission that Han was to escort her on.

She knew that Luke would understand, knew that he had had people around him to help him, to be there for him; but it didn’t ease her guilt any that she hadn’t been.

And now things had become so much worse. Now Luke’s behaviour had spiralled from being concerning to dangerous and he had committed an act that in time of war carried a possible death sentence even in the Alliance.

Luke had attacked Rhovan, had drawn a weapon against an officer, although it had been Han that had broken the Major’s nose. She smiled at that; couldn’t help but feel more than a little satisfied that someone had wiped some of the arrogance from the man, even if both her friends were now in serious trouble.

“... facing a firing squad for hitting that bastard! He’s the son of a bitch that tortured, Luke!” Han was shouting, leaning in and pointing a finger at Rieekan. He turned to Mon Mothma who was sitting behind her desk listening intently to both sides of the argument. “And you all knew!”

He turned to stare at Leia as his own words sank in. He sagged a little, “Leia?”

Horror rattled through the Princess. She sat straight. Surely he didn’t think that she....

“I didn’t know,” she told him, vehemently.

“You don’t look too surprised,” Han accused her.

“I... knew what he was, just not what he had done,” her excuse sounded lame even to her and she saw Han’s face darken with anger.

“It doesn’t take much intelligence to put the pieces together, your Highness.”

She winced at his cold tones knowing he was right, her guilt that much sharper under Solo’s withering gaze. She looked away, unable to sustain the contact.

Han turned away from her, to Rieekan. “You can arrest me if you like, General, but leave the kid alone this time.”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Mon Mothma broke her silence before the General could answer. “I recognise that Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker is quite unwell, but there has to be an investigation during which he must be confined. We will not be seeking the death sentence, but he still faces serious consequences if found guilty. He has struck...

“allegedly struck...” Han corrected her.

“... an officer in the execution of his office during war, he has threatened an officer with a weapon and he fled the scene of...”

“I had him taken from the scene,” Han interrupted, angrily.

“Then you, and Red Squadron, are accessories after the fact, Captain, and you, too, struck an officer in...”

Han threw his hands in the air. “Then arrest me, line me up!”

The Chief of State drew in a breath of air, she stood, her patience ragged and thin. She leaned over her desk. “Captain Solo, if you will please be quiet and allow me to speak.” She paused as Solo fell sullenly silent. “I agree with General Rieekan on this matter,” she held her hands up as both Han and Leia opened their mouths to protest.

“No,” Mothma sharply advised them both. “This discussion is at an end. Discipline must be maintained. Skywalker will be placed under arrest pending an investigation and the outcome of a court martial. He will be under the authority of Dr Therriman at all times.

Red Squadron will also be placed into custody and held overnight to be released before their next patrol in the morning. All will be reprimanded, punished and have it entered onto their records.”

She focused on Han. “You, Captain Solo, as a civilian working for the Alliance are also under our jurisdiction and subject to the same laws and procedure. To that end, you are also under arrest and will be held until...”

Leia came to her feet. “Mon, please...”

“...until your due departure time at oh four hundred.”

Han gaped at her in astonishment. “You think I’m still going on that mission after this?”

Mothma’s expression softened, she looked drawn, sad. “You are a man of honour, Solo, I believe that you will do the right thing.”

The door of the room opened and two security officers entered. Han eyed them sourly before turning to Rieekan. “Just, go easy on the kid.”

The general nodded, looking pained. “You have my word, Captain.”

Han walked from the room with the soldiers deliberately not looking Leia’s way as he passed.

ooOOoo

Within his meditation Vader felt a stirring in the Force; a quiet light within his darkness that brightened with each of his regulated breaths.

He smiled with satisfaction, with anticipation and cautiously approached his son’s presence.

ooOOoo

Artoo Detoo had helped light the way through the forest path that lead to the sloping drop into the natural arena he had found several days ago. It hadn’t been easy getting here; the trees were heavy with ash and the path had been covered with the stuff. They were both covered in a fine dusting and Luke could taste it on his tongue. Artoo had been moaning and complaining for the last few yards as his gears and mechanisms has become clogged and Luke knew that getting him back to the base without help was going to be impossible.

Luke paused and glanced around the arena, at the night sky framed by the jutting rocks and towering trees above him. He closed his eyes and drew in a breath of cool air feeling suddenly calm after all the drama, torment and soul searching of the last few days. This was the place he needed to be.

He opened his eyes and smiled at his companion. “Artoo, switch your flashlight off, I don’t need it.”

The little droid complied, but twittered unhappily.

“Programme two remotes to attack when I draw my lightsaber and release them,” he ordered as he stripped off his fatigue jacket and dropped it beside Artoo.

Again a bloop of unhappy compliance.

Luke ignored him and dropped to the ground as the two seekers were released and immediately disappeared into the shadows. He settled himself cross-legged among the ash piles. He closed his eyes again and drew in a deeper breath; smelling the sulphur tainted air, feeling it enter his lungs as they expanded. It was quiet, the sounds of the night muffled and muted by the covering ash.

He took another breath as he brought past pictures to mind, as he tried to recall the fine details of events, tried to remember the exact words of conversations.

_“Remember, a Jedi can feel the Force flowing through him.”_

He smiled as the memory came to him; as the pictures played in his mind’s eye.

_“You mean it controls your actions?”_

_“Partially. But it also obeys your commands.”_

On the Falcon he had watched the seeker closely, had keenly followed its movements until it had made a sudden dive and shot him in the thigh. It had stung like hell.

Han had laughed, mocked them both about “hokey religions and ancient weapons.”

_“I suggest a new strategy, Luke. This time, let go your conscious self and act on instinct.”_

Ben had then placed a helmet on his head and covered his eyes. Disbelief and scepticism had run through him.

“ _With the blast shield down, I can’t even see. How am I supposed to fight?”_

_“Your eyes can deceive you. Don’t trust them.”_

_... a little girl with a burn on her cheek...._

_“See what you have done.”_

“Shit,” Luke cursed as the resonance of Vader’s voice sliced through the images of that first lesson, shattering them. He hung his head in a moment of doubt. Maybe this wasn’t going to work, maybe what he was looking for wasn’t there to be found...

_...when the flames arose..._

...and maybe he didn’t want to find it at all, didn’t want to know what it would tell him.

Disheartened and discouraged he straightened his back, drew in another breath and slowly let it out, as he tried to focus on the Force.

_“Stretch out with your feelings.”_

He stood and unhooked the lightsaber from his belt. He closed his eyes, reaching out, searching to touch the Force, to feel it around him alive and vibrant.

_“A Jedi can feel the Force flowing through him.”_

He felt the cool night time breeze brush against the skin of his arm, felt it ruffle the hair at the back of his neck. He felt the expanse of the Force open before him.

He ignited the lightsaber and the seekers attacked. He blocked the first two bolts, the blade glowing in the night, bathing the area in a blue-white light. He turned on the balls of his feet, met the next few attacks as the remotes moved swiftly in and out of the shadows.

 Exhilaration flowed through him as he allowed the Force to guide him, as he met laser bolt after laser bolt; his movements instinctive and natural. He felt complete. He felt himself move deeper into the folds of the Force, felt it wrap around him.

The night deepened and darkened around him as he moved. A coolness surreptitiously drifted around him, breathing lightly across the sheen of sweat on his skin.

There was something else here now. Unsettled, he felt as though he was no longer alone. He felt...

_...lost..._

_He frowned, faltered and dropped his head, searching for the source of this sudden feeling; this sudden realisation._

_He was lost._

_He opened his eyes. It was still night and, despite the warmth retained in the grit beneath him, a chill had settled over the area. He rested his back against the farmstead dome and fidgeted with the small motor he held in his hand. He needed to fix it before he turned in for the night. He reached for the tools by his side._

_“Luke?”_

_He turned and smiled at his aunt as she smooth her skirt and sat down by his side._

_He was glad to be back here where everything made sense, where he was safe and where his life was predictable and..._

_“But it wasn’t, Luke,” she reminded him gently. “This night, this time we spent, was our last.”_

_He swallowed against the ball of grief that blocked his throat, blinked against the tears that threatened to spill at her reminder._

_“Aunt Beru, I...”_

_“You shouldn’t be here, Luke,” she told him, reaching out and taking his hand. “As much as I want to hold on to you and keep you here, I cannot. You have to come to terms with what happened to you and with what you have done.”_

_“It’s difficult,” he confessed, looking away._

_“The truth often is difficult, Luke,” Beru told him. “It takes courage to accept it.”_

_Her tone sounded distant and he glanced at her wondering what was wrong. Her attention was elsewhere and, curious, he followed her gaze._

_The dark figure by his grandmother’s grave; tall and imposing, robes snapping in the growing wind._

_“You are his weakness Luke,” Beru told him again. “And you have a strength within you that he craves.”_

_Luke pushed himself to his feet and took a step forward. “I don’t understand, Aunt Beru. Who is he?”_

_His aunt stood beside him. “Go to him, Luke. Only he can help you now. Only he can show you what you need to understand, no matter how painful.”_

_Confused, Luke took another uncertain step and stopped. Beru placed a hand on his back and gave him a firm, but gentle push; much like the one she had given him when his courage had faltered the first time he had tried to ask his Uncle about going to the Academy._

_He walked across the sand toward the gravesite, his heart suddenly accelerating, his stomach churning with apprehension as he drew near the still figure._

_The tall man stood silhouetted against the darkening horizon, his head dipped toward the grave, his robes flapping in the desert winds._

_Luke licked his lips and glanced back to the homestead looking for his aunt. Beru was gone and the dome a ruin lying cold in the desert night._

_He was alone and suddenly afraid; a fear so strong, so brutal that it battered his senses, urged him to turn and run._

_He sensed swift movement, turned and yelled as the waiting man’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. He was drawn off his feet, his own hands desperately trying to prise open the fingers that encircled his neck.  He gasped and choked and struggled in Darth Vader’s grasp._

_“You have allowed your fear to consume you, boy,” Vader told him, echoing the words spoken on Escaal. “You have become lost and unfocused, directionless.”_

_Luke, struggling to swallow, struggling to breath, could make no reply. The black mask tilted as the Dark Lord considered him, the fingers easing a little allowing Luke to painfully drag in air._

_“You are weak. You refuse to see. Refuse to acknowledge what lies within you.”  With disgust Vader viciously threw him to the side._

_Luke landed hard, rolled in the sand, came to rest on his back. He coughed, wheezed in much needed oxygen. It burned through his starved lungs._

_His senses reeled, horror rattled through him. Why had his aunt insisted he go to Vader?_

_Vader..._

_Hatred and anger twisted within him, smothering his fear._

_Vader._

_His father’s murder._

_He staggered to his feet, pulled his lightsaber from his belt and ignited it as the Dark Lord advanced on him. Vader’s own red blade cutting through the dark night._

_He yelled as Vader attacked and he was sent stumbling backward. He crouched, threw his hand up in reflex action, his own blade catching the heavy blow before it could land._

_Vader pressed the advantage forcing Luke down. He twisted his sword blade, caught underneath Luke’s and wrenched the hilt from Luke’s hand sending his lightsaber flying. It came to rest some distance away, lying deactivated and out of reach._

_Luke rolled away, climbed to his feet and faced Vader unarmed._

_“You have courage,” Vader acknowledged, the earlier disgust replaced with pride. It confused Luke. “And yet you still refuse to see.”_

_“What...” Luke tried to say, but the word was lost to his sore throat, to a damaged airway. He coughed, tried again. “What is there to see?”_

_The Dark Lord shut down his sword and reached for Luke. His hand closed around his upper arm and he was dragged in front of Vader’s bulk. A hand clenched at the back of his neck, forcing him to look upward at the night sky._

_“Look at what you have done.”_

_A light exploded in space. A flare so bright that it lit up the night sky overwhelming the star shine._

_He knew what it was. He knew those flames._

...when the flames arose I felt...

_The sky drew dark once more as the blast died and the stars reappeared._

_One instant. One brief flare and over twenty thousand had died._

_“What did you feel?” Vader asked. “When you fired upon the station what did you feel?”_

_“No,” Luke groaned, protesting, struggling in the cruel grip. “No, please...” He didn’t want this, he didn’t want to know._

_“You felt them,” Vader accused. “You felt the innocence.”_

_“Please...” Luke begged, squeezing his eyes shut against the memories, against the feelings they evoked._

_“When the flames arose...” The Dark Lord intoned, coldly._

...a fireball emerging from a birthing explosion....

...triumph, victory, elation of spirit...

...relief...

...and...

_“No!” Luke yelled, fighting the Dark Lord’s grip. Vader suddenly released him and he staggered away to stare in disbelief at the man as the full acknowledgement of his actions hit home. Tears of anguish, of shame, of pain trailed over sand encrusted cheeks._

_“When the flames arose...” The Sith urged, feeling Luke’s resolve crumble._

_Luke fell to the sand and to his knees as Vader loomed over him._

... a finger pressing a button...

... a rush of fire, of emotion that winked out of existence...

... a laugh...

His laugh.

_“Pleasure,” he rasped. “When the flames arose I felt... pleasure.”_

... a sharp, intense pain ripped across his chest. He lurched forward, brought his saber down with a raw cry of rage. It sliced through the seeker, neatly halving it. He twisted around cutting through the second one as it dove toward him. He turned on his heel, throwing the lightsaber away with his remaining strength.

He fell to his knees in agony; he had killed those people and he had enjoyed it. For that brief moment it had felt good and he had laughed as thousands died.

He had laughed.

His hands closed around the ash as his body was racked with painful spasms and he gagged, retched and vomited as he cried with grief, with guilt, with self-loathing.

“Well, remind me never to get you angry.”

A light was shone on him. Startled and horrified that someone had seen him, that someone may have heard him, Luke scuttled away from the light. He pushed himself to his feet and turned into the heavier shadows as the torch light flickered over the area looking for him. He wiped at his mouth with his wrist, spat the acrid taste of vomit into the ash.

“What do you want?” he grated, humiliation underscoring his words with anger.

“I want you Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker,” the light washed across the arena’s walls.

Luke stepped further away; his feelings jumbled and disordered. His head pounded, he felt as though he was apart from this scene, as though it was someone else this was happening too and he was just an observe; able to distance himself.

He placed his hands to his temples, pressing hard against the headache. There was still something here, still something within the Force that was darkness, that was malevolent, that was satisfaction, that was coloured by... concern. He frowned, puzzled by the feelings.

_Soon..._

A caress of a word in his mind and the darkness retreated to sulk in the shadows, to watch and wait. It had sounded like...

Vader.

He chilled, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He unconsciously rubbed at his throat where the Dark Lord’s hand had held him in the vision.

 “Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker?” The voice sounded wary, a little scared. He could hear muffled footsteps as the flashlight searched for him.

Luke shivered, shuddered; his limbs felt weak, shaky and he dimly recognised that he was going into shock from the strength of the vision, from the horror of at last acknowledging the truth of his feelings.

_When the flames arose, I felt pleasure._

Defeated, beaten, he slid down the rough rock face and sat in an ash drift.

“I’m here,” he said quietly.

The light fell on him, throwing him into sharp relief against the grey of the rock.

“There’s people looking for you, sir.”

He was shaking badly and was thankful when his jacket was placed over his shoulders and a warm body sat beside him in the ash. The lamp was placed onto the ground, its glow keeping the shadows from them both.

“Well, you found me,” he said, stating the obvious, his teeth rattling. His injured cheek throbbing. “Again.”

“I have a talent for picking up strays,” Thecla told him trying to keep her voice light and calm. She wasn’t sure of what she had seen, wasn’t sure of his emotional or mental state and mindful of the warnings the search party had been given about him being armed and possibly dangerous. Blasters were to be set to stun.

 “Besides,” she added, “I knew where to look.”

He stiffened beside her.

“I mean, I saw you here before,” she clarified quickly, knowing she had said the wrong thing. “On the day of the mission. You were practising.”

“You saw that?” he groaned, grabbing the sides of his jacket and drawing them tighter around him. He remembered the feeling of being watched, recalled the snap of a twig and wondered what stories she had told her comrades.

“I come here myself,” she explained, softly. “It’s private, peaceful and I get to think things through.”

There was something regretful in her tone and Luke was starkly reminded of the sacrifice this woman had made for him on Ra’imar many weeks ago. Now he had brought violence and horror to her place of sanctuary and had thought ungraciously of her. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I never thanked you for what you and Haslam did for me.”

She shrugged, but he didn’t miss her hand covering her stomach where Vader’s thrown lightsaber had caught her. “When you were brought back from Escaal I was one of the first on the shuttle,” she told him, quietly. “I saw what they had done to you. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through...”

_“Perhaps you need more time to think?”_

Still fighting the shivers of his body, Luke drew his knees up, swallowed and forced the echo of Rhovan’s voice away.

“... I just didn’t think it was right that you were willing to go through that again for Haslam and me.”

There wasn’t anything he could say to that. They had been willing to risk capture and death themselves to save him. He didn’t feel he deserved it; if they had left him to Vader on Ra’imar then twenty thousand refugees might still be alive today.

The little girl might still be alive.

“I killed all those people at Cusrean,” he found himself saying, his voice a hoarse whisper. He needed to say it. He needed to say it aloud and to have someone else acknowledge it, react to it. He looked around at her, held her gaze wanting to see.

 “I took a shot when every sense I have told me not too. It was a cold blooded act and I... I felt good about it.”

She was quiet for a moment as she considered his words and their implication; her dark eyes searching his. Then she turned away to look out into the night as she spoke.

“I was on Thyferra, on a mission to intercept a bacta shipment to the Empire. It didn’t go exactly as planned, but we managed to get most of the stock and run the blockade the Empire had set up around the planet,” there was pride in her voice and he could feel her sense of accomplishment, but it was coloured by something else; regret.

 “I was part of a decoy,” she continued, “a distraction for the main assault. There was a gun fight, close quarter fighting, hand to hand at one point. We spilled out of the complex and into the streets. Shots were coming from the structures around us and the only way to escape the streets was through the buildings. We had to clear them first. I...”

She heaved in a shuddering breath. “I... We took fire from a shop, so I tossed a grenade through the window. We ran in, there was fire, there was bodies...dead troopers... and behind a counter where the grenade had landed there were civilians... people who had just gone to the store not knowing that we were doing some shopping of our own the same day.”

“Thecla, I...” Luke started.

“No, sir!” she stopped him sharply, angrily. “This isn’t just about you. This isn’t just a story to make you feel better. When that grenade exploded I felt great, when I saw the dead troopers I knew I stood a chance of getting home alive. I was glad! It was pay back.” She sounded harsh, bitter.

“And the civilians?” he countered.

She laughed, roughly and without humour. “You know how I feel about that, sir. Because it’s how you feel about Cusrean. We’re human, we feel the good and the bad. We don’t get to feel better about these things.

I’m sorry they died, I’m sorry I killed them. But I’m not sorry that I lived.” She drew in another breath and announced. “I lived.”

Luke hung his head considering her words, feeling the venomous joy she felt at still being alive despite the deaths she had caused. He felt her guilt, felt her discomfort at her actions, she had not come to terms with what she had done, but she had accepted her shame, had learned to live with it. He would have to learn to do the same.

The Look from Han.

The actions of his friends.

The vision of his aunt pushing him to Vader to force him to see and understand.

And now Thecla’s words.

She laughed again. This time the sound was light, tearing through the weight of the last few minutes. It was a sounded uttered with self-depreciation, with incredulous humour. “Would you listen to us?” She asked. “What are we like? Mr Gloom and Mrs Doom.... Shit, you’d think we were ready for the psycho ward.”

Luke smiled, nodding agreement. “Yeah...”

 She leaned against him, her slight weight on his shoulder felt good, felt right. He smiled, slid an arm around her, relishing the heat that built between them as it eased his shivering.

They were quiet, still, both looking for nothing more than human contact, touch. The bleakness of the last few weeks, the guilt, the pain, slowly receded into the shadows of his mind, banished by thoughts of friendship, of camaraderie and a shared understanding. But, he knew they were only hiding, they would always be there, resting, waiting for a new opportunity to rise and tease him with gloating delight at his inadequacies.

However, when those times came he knew he would be better prepared, better equipped to fight back, and with each victory he would grow stronger.

The lingering darkness in the Force faded, the presence sated; its job done and Luke barely felt its passing.

“We should get back,” Thecla broke the spell, the few minutes of precious peace. She sounded reluctant, her tones resigned. “They’re still looking for you.”

Luke was confused at first, but then he recalled her earlier statements when he had pulled away and hidden from her and he suddenly understood why she was there. “You’re here to arrest me.”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

He nodded, smiled, peered into the blackness of the night to where Artoo was silently sitting. “I’ll need help for my droid.”

“I’ll send someone out in the morning to retrieve him,” she assured him.

He nodded. “And my lightsaber is lying around somewhere.”

“Yes, sir, I saw that,” he turned to her, saw her smile, her good natured humour. “I’ll help you find it.”

He shrugged, grinned and stood up. He reached for her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’ll come quietly,” he told her.

“Good, then I won’t have to shoot you,” she bent down and retrieved her torch. She paused, considered him. “If it’s any consolation, sir, I’d have smacked that son-of-a-bitch, too.”

ooOOoo

Vader opened his eyes to stare at the bland interior of his chamber. He toggled a switch and his helmet and mask lowered onto his head and sealed with a hiss. The claws of the chamber cracked opened and lifted away as his seat turned to the view screen. It activated to a view of the bridge.

Ozzel turned at his Commander’s signal. “Lord Vader, we are approaching the system and...”

“The Emperor will be contacting me soon,” Vader told him, for of course Palpatine would have felt his connection with the Force strong pilot.

His son was strong, resilient. Luke fought against the darkness within him. He had accepted and acknowledged his feelings; that twisted delight in the deaths of others that had helped his father touch the dark core of the Force. However, he still struggled, was still influenced by his upbringing and by Obi-Wan and was thus blind to the power he was denying.

Luke had looked within himself and had been terrified by what he had seen, by what he had found. The dark side of the Force yearned for his son. It longed for Luke to reach out and touch it, caress it, bathe himself in it. Luke’s innocent would be lost to its seduction and, when that day came, he would accept his rightful inheritance and stand by his father’s side. He would accept his power and do his father’s bidding just as he had done Palpatine’s.

_“Do what must be done, Lord Vader. Do not hesitate. Show no mercy.”_

He had grown strong just as Palpatine had promised....

_“... because of what you’ve done... what you plan to do. Stop, stop now. Come back! I love you.”_

... but not strong enough.

Decades old pain lanced through him. Feelings and memories that he had thought long buried returned time and again to haunt him, to taunt him with his losses.

With her.

_“Come away with me. Help me raise our child. Leave everything else behind while we still can.”_

With their child.

With Luke, whose existence filled him with anticipation, with focus and purpose and with...

... _hope..._

... the promise of unconstrained power and conquest.

 “Alert me as soon as your receive his summons,” Vader ordered the waiting officer, closing off his thoughts lest another sense them. It was not yet time to acknowledge Luke as his son, not yet time for Sidious’ game to end so that another could begin.

But the time was coming soon.

“Of course, my Lord,” Ozzel assured him. “However, the Government of...”

“Are of no concern yet, Admiral,” Vader warned him and shut off the comm before Ozzel could say more.

 He turned to the console before him calling up the data on the planet they were approaching  comparing it with last intelligence reports he had received with regards to the Rebel Alliance. If the information was correct then Leia Organa was about to pay a visit to this very system and beg for their continued support.

He planned to be at the negotiations.

ooOOoo

Rhovan caught Two-OneBee’s appendage as the droid attempted to place a small bacta patch to the gash at the top of his nose. His face had badly swollen, his eyes were blackened and his nose was broken; Solo packed a much harder punch than Skywalker.

“Major Rhovan,” the droid softly chided. “Now that your nose is reset I need to dress the cut before too much time has been lost and the tissue...”

“Wait,” The Major requested, looking over the medic’s shoulder to the window. He jumped from the bench and turned down the bright hospital lights so that he had a better view of the compound outside.

He squinted through swollen flesh and smiled as he watched Luke Skywalker walk with a female non-com toward the security building; surprised at the relief he felt that the pilot had been found safe and in one piece.

“Major?”

Rhovan restored the light to its previous level and returned to the treatment bench. He lay back as One-Bee applied the cool wet dressing over his throbbing nose. As the droid worked he was struck with the sudden, unsettling feeling that he had forgotten something.

ooOOoo

Luke complied quietly with the security personnel. He handed over his empty weapons belt when requested, smiled at Thecla as she handed over his lightsaber, enjoyed a shower and welcomed a change of fatigues. He allowed a medic to examine him and treat his injured cheek. He spent a while speaking with Dr Therriman as his competency to give a statement was assessed. He then waived his right to counsel and willingly answered all their questions.

It was early morning and he was exhausted by the time Therriman walked with him and his guard to the old fashioned, makeshift holding pens.

“If you feel ill, Luke,” Therriman fussed, “just let them know and I can arrange for you to be transferred to the medical facilities,”

“I know this isn’t Escaal,” Luke assured the analyst as they walked past the ray-shielded cells. “I’ll be fine,” he stated, smiling as he said it, finally believing it.

Movement caught his eye and his smile widened as he spotted Wedge Antillies and Derek Klivian rising from the bunks in the cell they shared. “Hey, Luke,” Antilles greeted.

“They got you, huh?” Luke said with gentle humour.

“All of us,” Wedge nodded to the cell opposite where Wes Janson and young Ylanic both lay sleeping. “We’re here until our court-martials, except when on patrols since they have no other pilots, all privileges suspend, too.”

Luke winced. “Ouch, sorry.” He knew he was facing more serious sanctions.

Antilles shrugged, grinned. “We’ve had worse.”

“Sir,” the security corps guard indicated an open cell.

Luke thanked the guard and Therriman as he stepped in to find that he, too, was sharing accommodation. Han Solo lay prone on one of the bunks watching him enter.

The ray shielding activated with a muted buzz and hum and the guard and Therriman left.

 “What’d you do?” Luke asked Han as he sat down on the empty bed. He remembered Han talking to him after he had punched Rhovan, remembered that it had been Han’s voice that had brought him out of his flashback.

The Corellian raised his head and smiled lopsidedly, relieved to see Luke.  “I broke some guy’s nose.”

Luke pulled his boots off, lay back on the bunk and rested his head on the thin pillow. He knew Han was referring to Rhovan and he couldn’t help but smirk. “Why?”

Han considered his answer. He shrugged, placed his hands behind his head. “He pissed me off.”

Luke laughed, unable to stop the small twist of satisfaction, a small piece of him pleased that there had been some retribution for all the pains that Rhovan had forced upon him. He contemplated the corrugated durasteel ceiling and closed his eyes asking, “Have you seen Leia?”

Han sighed, unable to hide the choler in his voice as he said, “Yeah, she’s fine.”

“You’re pissed at her, too, huh?”

“Just a little,” Han told him, he didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want Luke to know of his earlier conversation, didn’t want him to know that Leia knew what Rhovan was and what he had done. “She was worried about you, kid.”

“I know,” Luke said simply.

Han glanced over at him. Luke was lying on his back, hands clasped over his abdomen, his eyes shut. For the first time in many weeks he looked at peace and Han knew his friend had finally sorted out whatever was in his head; just as he had known he would.

The kid’s experiences since leaving Tatooine had to have taken a toll, no-one could move at that breakneck speed for as long as Luke had and not have difficulties, no matter how strong they were. There was no doubt that Luke would have more demanding times ahead, would find that his strength would slip from time to time and memories and experiences would leak into the present, but Han had a feeling that the boy was now better equipped to deal with whatever fate sent his way.

“You’ll see her Royalness in the morning,” Han informed him. “She’ll come beggin’ for me to take her on this damned mission.”

“’You gonna go?” Luke wanted to know.

“Sure,” Han said with another smile, “but I’m not tellin’ her that. I want to enjoy her performance.”

Luke chuckled, settled his head further into the pillow and listened as Han drifted off to sleep. He lay for a while listening to the soft snores of his friends around him, listening to the murmur of the guards in the other room. He drew in a soft breath of air and let it out slowly as he sank into a welcome slumber.

_Beru laid a hand against his cheek, turned him to face her, studied him and smiled. “You are his weakness, Luke, and you have a strength within you that he craves.”_

_ooOOoo_

_  
_To be continued in Dark Times: Absolute.


	9. Absolute Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa are called by the Horaarn government (an ally to the Alliance) to give evidence at a committee being held to investigate the incident above Cusrean. 
> 
> However, once they arrive planet side, Luke, Leia, Han, Chewie, and the droids, along with Sergeant Thecla Da'amalan and Private Haslam, come to the realisation that the invite to give evidence may have a deeper, more sinister motive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous copy disclaimers for this story still apply....

**   Dark Times: Chapter Six **

Absolute

The Ambassador’s statement stunned Mon Mothma, silenced her. She glanced to Leia, looking for the younger woman’s reaction. The Princess had paled, the dark circles of her tired eyes even more stark against her porcelain skin. Leia shook her head in horror at the ex-senator, turned to Rieekan beside her looking for support, but the General appeared just as surprised and speechless at what he had heard.

Mothma muted the connection and stood, turning her back on the small holographic image of the Horaarn Ambassador as she considered his words, his government’s latest terms for the diplomatic visit by the Princess Leia. She knew she had scant minutes in which to make her decision as the Horaarn’s sensibilities would be offended if she kept him waiting too long and that would only further stress their already tenuous relationship.

“Mon?” Leia asked, also rising. She pleaded with both the leader of the Alliance and the seated General. “Please... You can’t do this, you can’t send him there. He...”

“He would have you and Captain Solo for support,” Mon told her quietly, thinking aloud as she stared out of the window into the dark compound beyond.

“Neither Han, nor I, are qualified in...” Leia tried to argue.

Mothma turned around, her features set, grim. “You heard the Ambassador’s terms, there are no negotiations here. Either Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker goes with you and Captain Solo to Horaarn to explain what happened above Cusrean or they withdraw their support and their supplies.”

“We can’t afford to lose another system, another supply line,” Rieekan stated. “We are struggling as it is.”

Leia shook her head again. “Even with Luke there they still might withdraw their support if they don’t like what they hear.” She gestured at the waiting hologram. “Luke can’t tell them anymore than I can. That we made a mistake, that the information we had suggested that it was a weapons facility and...”

“The Horaarns know all of this, Leia,” Mothma chided, gently, understanding her young friend’s concern for the boy who was currently in custody along with his squad mates for attacking Major Rhovan. It would seem that Skywalker’s control over his emotions since his capture on Escaal had finally snapped and the question now was what to do with Padme’s son.

He had assaulted an officer in the execution of his office during a time of war; an offence that even the Alliance held the death penalty for. She had quickly taken that off the agenda for the boy; to kill an unwell youth was an act worthy of the Empire and not a civilised government. But such an act could not go unpunished even for a celebrity figure such as Skywalker.

She regarded his sister, and smiled, picturing her mother at a similar age near the start of the clone wars. Leia had inherited much from Padme and there were times when she ached to tell the princess of her mother.

“They want to hear from him, Leia,” she explained, breaking away from her thoughts. “They want to hear it first hand from the pilot who was there, not from a politician who has the ability to put any spin she chooses on events.”

“Mon!” Leia protested, feeling slighted, feeling desperate. Luke was not strong enough for what was being asked of him and had so much still to face. He needed time to heal, time to prepare for his court martial and not have that time used up answering questions from potentially hostile allies.

Mothma waved away her protests. “He has to go, Leia. We need the Horaarn supplies.”

“This is wrong, Mon,” the Princess’s voice shook with rage, her cheeks flushed with anger, “and you know it. Luke isn’t strong enough to face an enquiry committee of this kind and...”

“Princess,” Rieekan placed a hand on her arm, trying to placate her, calm her. “There is no decision to be made here. The Alliance is more important than one man, even if that man is Luke Skywalker. We serve the systems that back us....”

“The Horaarns supply the Empire, too. The Empire has an outpost there!” Leia bit back with bitterness. “They hide under the canopy of neutrality and make a profit from us both.” Although she also knew that the Empire paid a lot more for their supplies and that the Horaans had pledged support and money to the Alliance and to the new republic that they were fighting for.

“They were also Cusrean’s closest ally and, as such, have a legitimate complaint that deserves an answer,” Mon Mothma told her, her voice tight with fatigue and ire; very aware that time was passing and she still had the ambassador waiting.

“I will have a security detail join you, Princess,” Rieekan said.  “They will ensure that the Lieutenant-Commander...”

Leia waved him silent. “No, General. That’s the last thing Luke needs. No, Han and I will look after him.”

“Your Highness, Luke is in custody,” Rieekan reminded her.  “He requires an escort.”

She nodded in assent, her anger was gone, replaced with resignation and purpose. She glanced reproachfully at the tiny hologram. “Please tell the Ambassador that he can expect Luke and myself at the arranged time.”

She avoided looking at Mon as she walked from the room.

ooOOoo

“...no....”

“...I knew you’d...”

“...keep your voice down...”

Quick, sharp and angry whispered words pierced his slumber and pulled him toward awareness. Luke lay in the warmth of the bed suspended in the comfort of the state between sleep and full consciousness. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to wake, wanted to just fall back into deeper slumber. It reminded him of Tatooine, of the farm, when he would be dragged from his sleep by his aunt and uncle’s quiet arguments. The discussions were usually about him, about the latest damage he had caused to the landspeeder, or his T-16, or the fact that he had returned home late and the vaporators he had supposed to have fixed were still malfunctioning because he had snuck away to Tosche Station.

He never did get the units on the south ridge repaired.

“...what the hell are you thinking?...”

“... it’s not me!”

“... serving the kid up on a friggin platter!”

That caught his attention and he was instantly awake, anxiety cooling in the pit of his belly. Han sounded furious, Leia sounded defensive and just as angry.

“It’s not like that!” she whispered, tightly.

“It’s exactly like that!” Solo growled back. “He’s only just getting his head screwed back on and you lot are throwing him to the nexu!”

“That’s unfair!”

“That’s the truth!”

“What’s the truth?” Luke asked quietly, his eyes still closed, his head still on the pillow.                   

“Shit,” he heard Solo swear and he smiled in response.

“Luke,” Leia tentatively started and he winced inwardly at the tone of her voice, not liking the fact that she felt had to tiptoe around him. “The Horaarns have asked...”

“Demanded,” Han corrected.

“... that you attend with the Alliance delegation to give evidence at a hearing into the battle of Cusrean.”

Luke opened his eyes at this, saw the corrugated ceiling of the holding cell above him, felt the throb of his cut cheek and remembered the events of the previous evening. He’d lost it. He had seen the broadcast on the holonet of the aftermath of the battle, had seen the images of what he had done – the debris and the dead.

He had been filled with guilt, with rage and had sought out the one person that he had blamed for it all.

Rhovan.

And now he was locked up with Han - who had broken the Major’s nose - while he waited for his court-martial.

But it wasn’t Rhovan’s fault. It was his. Everything that had happened since he had been shot down over Escaal had been down to decisions and choices he had made.

He had decided to go planet side at Escaal.

He had disobeyed orders at Ra’imar.

He had decided to shoot at Cusrean when all his senses told him not too.

It was time to take responsibility and not blame others for his actions.

He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and yawned, winced as the cut on his face protested. He wiped sleep from his eyes and glanced up at his friends. Leia was standing outside the ray shielding watching him with some concern. Han was lounging against the cell wall, a few inches away from the shield that separated the cell from the corridor.

“The other guys away?” he asked, referring to his squad mates who were in as much trouble as he was.

“Patrol left an hour ago,” Han told him, shooting a glance at Leia.

“Luke,” Leia started again. “Did you hear...”

“I heard,” he told her softly. “I’ve to give evidence on Horaarn. When do we leave?”

“Now,” solo told him watching him closely. The kid had seemed at peace earlier, had seemed as though he was coming to terms with everything he had been through since Escaal and his capture and he was concerned that this latest development might just send him spiralling back into the depression and despair that he had been leaving behind.

“Are you coming?” Luke asked, recalling their conversation from last night.

“Yeah, the Falcon’s her holier-than-thou-highness’s consular ship and me and Chewie are her...”

“It’s just us, Luke,” Leia told Luke quickly, cutting Solo off mid sentence feeling her ire grow, but determined not to allow the Corellian to get the better of her. “You, me and Han and Chewbacca.”

“Don’t forget his escort,” Solo reminded her sourly.

Amused, Luke smiled again, the movement tugging on the cut. “I get an escort?”

“With guns,” Han told him, a grin tugging on his own lips.

Leia sighed and explained. “You’re still in custody, Luke, it’s procedure.”

“It’s so you don’t run away,” Han told him, sarcasm biting.

“Don’t you get an escort?” Luke wanted to know. “You’re locked up, too.”

“Nah, I’m being released on the understanding that I don’t frig off and leave her highness cooling her heels on Horaarn. If I do, I don’t get paid.” Han explained although his tone indicated that the thought had crossed his mind and Luke had the feeling that Han might try to persuade him to do likewise regardless of the escort.

He stood up, approached the shield as the hum of energy crackled and spat before dying away leaving the doorway open. He stepped out and stopped as he spotted two Alliance ground troopers waiting a little farther up the corridor.

He grinned in surprise at Thecla, warmed by her presence, her smile and nod of greeting, and then he cooled as the taller soldier turned around. “Shit,” he breathed.

It was Haslam: the soldier who had wanted to leave him on Ra’imar, who had shown nothing but distrust and disdain for him.

Leia slipped her arm through his, explaining, “Rieekan thought it would help if it was someone you knew.”

“I’ll have to thank the General,” he muttered dryly as the soldier narrowed his eyes at him with unhidden scorn. Haslam had believed Luke when he had said he had given Ra’imars position to the Empire and, despite everything that had happened since, it seemed that this belief remained.

Han bent down, whispered in his ear. “If the big guy gives you any grief I’ll get Chewie to sit on him again.”

Luke smiled at that as the two troopers fell in behind Leia, Han and himself, enjoying the mental image of Chewbacca sitting on top of the large infantry man and looking forward to the trip in the Falcon even though the destination might prove to be demanding and the questions asked of him difficult to answer.

ooOOoo

Major Erwin Rhovan woke slowly, fighting against the drowsy effects of the painkillers that the medical droid had insisted he take. He turned in bed, burying his face into the pillow but immediately pulled away as pain sliced through his nose and forehead. He gingerly felt his face, forced open still swollen and bruised eyes and saw the sunlight filtering through the window, felt the ground lightly shudder as the volcano rumbled.

He could hear people and vehicles moving around outside and the day felt late. He glanced at his chrono and immediately sat up. It was late afternoon and, despite being relieved of duty for a few days while his nose healed, he had fully intended on checking through the data from last night.

Vader.

Vader was heading somewhere.

Cusrean.

Something about Cusrean.

Throwing the coverlet aside, Rhovan swung his legs off the cot, standing and reaching for his fatigue pants, drawing them on before heading for the fresher. He splashed his face with water, avoiding the mirror, knowing that all he would see was swelling and bruising around the bacta dressing the droid had applied the previous evening.

He dried his face, gently, with the towel, dropping it back over the rail beside the sink, his attention caught by the packet of painkillers sitting on the shelf above. He stared at them for a few minutes, reticent to take them. They would dull his senses, they would fog his brain.

Finally, he pocketed them. At least he’d have them if the pain got too much…

He finished dressing, pulling on his boots before leaving his quarters heading straight for the command centre and his station in Intelligence Operations.

Before Skywalker had thrown his punch, before all hell had broken loose in the Intel Ops room he had been looking at star maps, had been trying to figure out where Vader had been heading. Something had occurred to him, something had connected in his mind about the Dark Lord’s next move. But it had been lost in the following events, tenuous links in his memory fractured by the few fraught moments of Skywalker’s attack.

Something about Vader…

He ignored the curious glances of others as he crossed the compound but he was aware of them, just as he was aware that the tale of last night’s events had already made its way around the base and back again. He smiled, winced and touched the top of his nose; he also had no doubt that, despite being the victim, that he would be the villain of the story.

Not that it concerned him.

The Holonet had broadcast pictures and images of the aftermath of the Cusrean attack, had named Skywalker as the suspect and increased the bounty on his head. It had shown the death toll, the twisted and blacked bodies of those killed in the Rebel assault. The footage was filmed from the bridge of a Star Destroyer... No... not just any Star Destroyer.

The Executor.

Vader’s ship.

Then it was reported to have left the system, its destination unknown.

Rhovan rubbed at his chin, glancing up the mountain side at the roar of engines, watching the base’s remaining X-Wings descend from the low cloud cover. Once they had landed and been debriefed, the pilots would be escorted back to the holding cells; punishment for helping Skywalker the previous evening…

Skywalker…

He hoped that Command would deal with the boy quickly. The last thing Luke needed was an extended spell in the cells and a long, drawn-out hearing. It was going to be difficult enough for the pilot to face a court-martial, but he was going to have to do it without the support of his closest friends as the Princess Organa and Captain Solo would be on their way to Horaarn by now and...

Horaarn…

“Shit!”

He rushed through the doorway of the HQ, running through the building, pushing past personnel, in his urgency to get to the comms room. He took the stairs four at a time, using the railing to propel him further as he climbed to the tower.

He almost fell into the room, barking, “Raise Solo, now! Bring that ship back!” at the nearest controller as he examined the scan screen showing the traffic in the system.

“Sir, I...” the man stammered.

“Now, Godsdammit!”

“Sir, The Falcon left hours ago. Any message we send now won’t reach them until...”

“Use the subspace comms,” Rhovan ordered, frustrated and angry with himself for sleeping so long, for allowing the incident of the previous evening to affect his memory and judgement. He had been trained better than this.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the comms controller told him. “Only High Command has the authority for subspace and...”

 “Shit!” Rhovan breathed angrily, turning away and leaving the room. He ran back down the stairs and along the corridors in the opposite direction, heading for Mon Mothma’s chambers. He ignored the outer desks and the personnel seated there, he ignored the shouts of “sir, you can’t go in there!” as he burst through the door of Mon Mothma’s office.

Heads rose from conversation as the doors opened. Mon Mothma rose from behind her desk.

“Major Rhovan?”

“You need to call the Falcon back!” Rhovan told her ignoring Reekan, Anders and S’adaan. “Horaarn is compromised.”

“And you know this how?” Mothna said, sitting down again, concern tightened her tone as she glanced at Rhovan’s superior officer in Intelligence. Ehlen Anders shook her head, showing her confusion and ignorance of the Major’s claims.

“Last night I was trying to track the Executor,” Rhovan explained, quickly. “It abruptly left orbit at Cusrean and its route and destination was unknown. Using the star maps and hyperspace routes, I highlighted likely systems and the most likely seemed to be Horaarn. Before I could pursue this any further I was.... interrupted.”

Anders suppressed her smile at this, knowing what the Major was referring too. The Major’s injuries looked painful and Anders almost wished she had been on duty the previous evening to see Skywalker and Solo land their punches.

“Have you been able to pursue it today?” Mothma wanted to know.

Rhovan licked his lips, uncharacteristically tense and nervous. “No, Ma’am. I have been indisposed.”

“Then how do you know that Horaarn has been compromised?” Mothma asked again.

“I don’t,” Rhovan stated, truthfully. “But, it seemed the most credible of destinations for the Executor given the close ties that the Horaarn people have with Cusrean. It may be that the Empire wanted to assure the Horaans that they were pursuing the perpetrators.”

Mothma closed her eyes in horror as cold understanding and comprehension crawled over her. She may have just sent the Princess Organa and Skywalker into their father’s clutches. “Can you all please clear the room,” she ordered softly. “Major Rhovan you will stay.”

“Milady!” Rieekan protested. “If the Princess’s mission is...”

“Now, General!” Mothma told him, leaving no opening for debate.

Both she and Rhovan waited in silence as the others reluctantly left the room. Anders glanced at him, but Rhovan ignored her. If she was as good as Mothma thought, she would be able to piece together his assumptions and confirm them when she went back to Ops.

 “I sent Skywalker with her,” Mothma told him softly once they were alone.

Rhovan chilled. “What?” he rasped, the sharp burst of anger pushing him forward a step before he checked himself, pulling back from his ire. “With all due respect, Mi’lady,” he asked coolly, “why was I not informed. Skywalker is my responsibility I should have been consulted.”

Mothma glanced at him, wiped at her eyes, feeling the fatigue and the strain of the last few days. She’d had little sleep, had had to negotiate and beg with angry and appalled system governments, many of whom had been friends and colleagues in the Senate. “There was little time,” she explained. “The Horaarn Ambassador only contacted me less than an hour before the Princess was due to depart. They...” she struggled to find the right word, “...asked... that Skywalker was sent to explain his part in the attack. They threatened to withdraw their support if we didn’t comply.”

Rhovan understood immediately. Since the destruction of Alderaan, which had all but wiped out the vast wealth of the Organas, Horaarn had supplied the greatest financial support to the Alliance. The majority of the food stuffs also came from there. The loss of their support would have major consequences.

He leaned over her desk. “Did it occur to you that they might also have invited the Empire?”

“Of course it did!” she defended, a blush warming her cheeks with anger. How dare he question her like this.

“I am not a fool, Major!”

She stood again, drawing herself to her full height, not allowing him to tower over her. “The Horaarns have assured us that they only wish to have an opportunity to view our data for themselves and to speak to the pilot responsible. They want to understand why we made the decision to attack. There was to be no Imperial presence.”

“And the outpost the Empire have there?”

Mothma sighed. “It is a fuelling station, a communications array with minimal staffing. Horrarn is a neutral system.”

“It is hardly neutral when it backs us,” Rhovan pointed out. “How long do you think it would take the Empire to add the system to its territory if it learned that Luke Skywalker was there?”

“I hardly think the Empire would spend vast amounts of time and effort invading a system for the sake of one man,” Mon scoffed, though a spike of anxiety twisted in her belly.

“They spent time and effort tearing Escaal apart looking for him! They followed us to Ra’imar and spent more time and effort razing the base there! They spent time and effort at Cusrean to bait a trap for us. Do you really think they don’t know that Horaarn backs the Alliance?”

“I’m sure they have known since the beginning of the Rebellion, Major,” Mon agreed, “but they have no grounds to...”

She stopped as she realised what she had just said.

She sat down again, falling into her chair and Rhovan watched as all the pieces fell into place. Cusrean wasn’t just about discrediting and corrupting the name of the Alliance and making them out to be heartless terrorists who targeted the most vulnerable; it wasn’t just about turning allies against them and taking backing and funding away from them…

It was about Anakin Skywalker’s son.

“Vader has gone to Horaarn,” Rhovan told her. “I know he has.”

Mothma opened her comm. “Send a subspace message to the Millennium Falcon. Authorisation code Leth – Usk – one – six – three – Aurek. They are to abandon the mission and return immediately.”

The loss of the Horaarns would be painful to the Alliance. It would drastically reduce their basic food and clothing supplies. It would affect weapons purchases and star ship repairs… But better that than allowing Darth Vader to be re-united with the boy he knew was his son, and risk him discovering that Leia was Luke’s sister...

“Mi’lady,” a comms operator responded. “They will have reached the Horaarn sector by now and...”

“Send it,” she ordered, sharply.

“Yes, mi’lady.”

They waited in silence, minutes dragging passed. Rhovan pulled up a chair and sat down, his eyes alternating between Mon Mothma and the comms unit. He licked his lips, winced against the pain from the middle of his face and slipped his hand into his pocket and tapped the packet of analgesics as though by just touching them he could ward off the headache he felt descending.

He needing a Caffin.

The comm. crackled and they both stiffened as the operator reported, “We have been unable to raise the Millennium Falcon, mi’lady.”

Rhovan stood, pulled his jacket straight. “Send me in.”

Mothma shook her head, trying to think. “Out of the question, Major. The Horaarn’s baulked at the escort we requested to send with Skywalker.”

“This isn’t about the Horaarns anymore, mi’lady,” Rhovan countered, “this is damage control. If Skywalker and the Princess have been taken, you stand to lose a lot more than just them, than this base. You stand to lose the war.”

She was silent, still.

“Lady Mothma, you have to send me in.”

She looked at him as though seeing him for the first time, as though just recognising the man standing before her desk. She glanced at his hands feeling cold horror wash over her as she realised what those hands had done in the past, what the man had done and was more than capable of doing again.

She swallowed. “Go,” she said. “Do what you have to.”

ooOOoo

The Millennium Falcon dropped from hyperspace on the edge of the small solar system. Luke watched with fascination as Han and Chewbacca took her around the outer planets and asteroid bodies floating dead in space, all too far away from the system’s sun to support life, but he could see the bio-domes of mining operations dotting the surface of several of the larger rocks.

Coming around a particularly huge planetary body, the green and blue sphere of Horaarn came into view and Luke felt the familiar spike of excitement at the thought of stepping onto yet another new world. Despite being off Tatooine and out in the Galaxy for over two years now, he had still not lost that enthusiasm, that thrill and anticipation at the thought of stepping onto foreign soil – he hoped he never lost it, that he never became jaded by experience.

His feelings were cooled however by the familiar wedge-shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer locked against a huge space station that orbited the planet. He stiffened at the sight, felt Leia do likewise: despite their knowledge that this was a refuelling depot for the Imperials and that Horaarn was a supposedly neutral system.

As they approached he could see TIE fighters patrolling the area, could feel his pilot instincts kicking in and he itched to get into the cockpit of his fighter.

“Horaarn Control,” Han spoke into the comm. “This is the consular ship, Millennium Falcon, on approach and requesting instructions and clearance to land.”

Luke glanced at Leia, sitting behind Chewbacca, and smiled at her concerned expression. She had changed into a functional, but elaborate business suit, one more fitting to her rank and station as an Alliance representative and Princess. The dark green of the fabric suited her, accentuated her styled auburn hair and dark eyes, and he hadn’t missed Han’s reaction when she had stepped from the passenger compartment. The Corellian’s mouth had literally hit the deck plates; even the sour faced Haslam had noticed the Princess’ beauty.

Leia had ignored the stares of the men, had merely smiled graciously at Luke as he had tried to avert his gaze and nodded to the cabin stating, “Your turn, Luke.”

Luke had changed into his dress uniform: a dark, almost black, grey outfit with pressed trousers and a long, stiff and starched, jacket that was belted at his waist by a band of gold and red trimmed fabric. The high collar rubbed annoyingly against his chin and, apart from his wings, his rank insignia and the ribbon representing the Alliance’s medal of bravery that he had been awarded for the destruction of the Death Star, his uniform was unadorned.

 It was probably the first, and the last, time he would wear it. It had been waiting on board the Falcon for him. The Alliance didn’t have the need, or the resources, for dress uniforms for its personnel and Luke had no idea what the outfit’s original purpose had been, or even who it had previously belonged, too.

He had stepped out of the cabin to be met with a “You scrub up good, kid,” from Han and a soft kiss on his bruised cheek and a “you look very handsome,” from Leia.

He had pulled on the jacket, self consciously playing with the collar and shrugged, noticing Thecla glancing away from him and Haslam staring with unhidden loathing.

Some things never changed.

“You look fine, Luke,” Leia had assured him as he fidgeted with the sleeves.

“I’m just...” He touched the dressing on his face, a reminder of his altercation with Rhovan, of his recent emotional state. “I mean... I hope I don’t screw this up.”

Her eyes had darkened, her own concern flaring, briefly, but it was hidden behind the practised composure of Royalty and political finesse. “You’ll be fine, Luke,” she had assured him. “You only need to tell the committee what happened. Leave the explanations of the intelligence to me.”

The two soldiers had likewise cleaned up and changed into fresh fatigues, but Han – ever stubborn – refused.

“They can take me how they find me,” he had told Leia.

Now, watching Horaarn fill the cockpit window, Luke wasn’t convinced of his ability to give explanations. He had no desire to sit in a room with a delegation of strangers and tell them of the battle of Cusrean. He had no desire to relive those chaotic moments of terror and indecision and explain why he fired upon the space station and killed over twenty thousand civilians.

But the Horaarns wanted to meet him, wanted to gauge him and listen to his account of the events. The Alliance was depending on him, and on Leia, to soothe the frayed ties with the Horaarns to maintain their vital support and supplies.

He caught Leia’s eye and smiled nervously. She returned the smile, but it was fleeting as the tension mounted. Luke knew she was concerned for him, was concerned that Horaarn would pull their support from the Alliance and that they would need to seek aid and backing elsewhere in a Galaxy that had subtly stepped away from the Alliance following the battle of Cusrean.

And it was his fault; it was his actions that had lead them here.

The comm crackled to life. “Millennium Falcon, welcome to Horaarn. You are to take a standard arrival route to Rhuin. Vector Nine-Delta to land on platform five-nine-eight. Be aware of snow showers passing through and loss-of-speed windshear on final approach. First Minister Teraten and Ambassador Fuhret are waiting for you.”

“Copy control,” Han answered, bringing the Falcon down into the planet’s atmosphere. The ship bucked as it hit turbulence. Chewbacca quickly compensated. “Vector Nine-Delta and platform five-nine-eight. Snow and windshear.”

Luke grinned as the Falcon skimmed over thick dark clouds before plunging down through to find themselves in the midst of a heavy snow storm.

“Wow,” Luke breathed, then stated the obvious. “Snow!”

Han threw him a dirty look before turning his full attention to bringing the Falcon down safely while muttering about ash clouds and snow storms and what was next? “Tornadoes? Ground quakes? I tell ya, sweetheart, you sure do pick ‘em.”

“Just bring us down in once piece, Han,” Leia told him while patting his shoulder. She gestured to Luke. “Come on, Luke, let’s get this over with.”

He followed Leia to the hatch, activating See Threepio and Artoo Detoo as he passed them.

“Oh my, have we arrived?” the golden droid enquired as Artoo tooted and rolled after Luke.

“Get the bags, Threepio,” Luke threw at him over his shoulder.

There was a slight jolt as the Falcon settled onto the landing platform, the hatch cracked open and the ramp lowered. Luke heard Leia draw in a breath of the cool air that blew into the ship, carrying with it a burst of snowflakes. She drew her shoulders back, glanced his way and smiled before starting down the ramp to meet the waiting dignitaries.

With his stomach churning, Luke did likewise, followed by his ever present escort and the two droids.

Waiting for them were two men. Standing in the steadily falling snow, the wind snapped the tails of their heavy black coats. It carried eddies of snowflakes to dance across the landing platform. 

Behind them stood a formation of armed Horaarn soldiers.

Luke shivered in the cold, suddenly more concerned. “Leia...” he warned, needing to say no more.

“I see them,” she told him as the two soldiers behind them stiffened. “Keep your weapons holstered,” she cautioned.

The taller of the two men stepped forward. “Your Royal Highness,” he gushed, raising his voice above the gale and bowed his head to her. “I am honoured to meet you again!”

“First Minister Teraten,” Leia offered her hand. The First Minister took it and brushed his lips across the back of her fingers. “I trust you have been well.”

“As always, Princess,” he straightened, looked sober. “I have no words to express my sorrow for the loss of Alderaan.”

Leia stiffened at the unexpected mention of her lost world. “I... thank you, First Minister, however...”

“Why is he not tethered?”

The sharp, bitter words drew all of their attention and Luke was horrified to find the second man staring at him.

Leia glanced between Luke and the man who had spoken. “Ambassador,” there was a bite to her tone. “Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker is...”

“An unstable criminal, under arrest and escort by your own people. Horaarn law demands that he be...”

Luke blanched, shifted his feet in the snow. He hadn’t even opened his mouth to speak and he was already causing trouble for the mission.

“Luke is not a criminal,” Leia drew herself to her full height, indignant and angry and faced the ambassador. “He has not been convicted of any crime and...”

“He stands accused of...”

 “Please!” Leia raised her voice, her tone clipped with anger. “Let me finish speaking, Ambassador Furet!”

The First minister stepped between them. “This is neither the time, nor the place for this,” he placated. “We are all getting cold and should be indoors!” He looked sternly at the Ambassador who shot Luke another venomous glance and took a step back, capitulating to his superior with a small bow.

Teraten turned to Leia. He looked apologetic, embarrassed. “Your Highness, I am sorry. Feelings are running high since the deaths of our Cusrean cousins and we were given assurances that the Lieutenant Commander would be suitably restrained.”

Leia sighed, shivered with cold. “I doubt that the Lady Mothma meant that he would be physically restrained. We have an escort for him and Luke is quite capable of...”

“What’s goin’ on?”

Luke groaned at the sound of Solo’s voice from behind them. His tone suggested he knew exactly what was going on. This was could easily get out of hand now that Han had joined them.

Leia hid her exasperation well. “First Minister, Ambassador, this is Captain Han Solo.”

The Horaarns both nodded their greetings.

Solo ignored them, kept his eyes on the ranks of armed soldiers and came around beside Leia, raising his voice to be heard over the growing wind. “So... why are we all waitin’ in the cold?”

Luke noticed that Solo’s holster was unbuckled and his blaster’s safety was off.

“Han,” Leia started, a warning clear in her voice. “The situation is...”

Giving very little thought to what he doing, acting purely on impulse, Luke stepped forward, addressing the First Minister.

“Sir,” he began, his throat dry, not really knowing what he was doing or what consequences he faced for breaking protocol, just knowing he had to do something to ease the growing tension. “I am a visitor to Horaarn and unsure of your laws. If Horaarn law demands me to be...” he searched for the term the ambassador used, “uh... tethered, then I willingly submit myself to your authority.”

“Like hell you will,” Han told him.

“This isn’t your call, Han,” Luke glared back at the Corellian, willing him to back down.

Leia stepped in front of Han, keeping herself between the smuggler and the Horaarns and nodded at Thecla to come forward. Luke held his wrists out toward her, ready for the cuffs that the sergeant took from her belt.

“No,” the ambassador protested stepping forward once more. “Skywalker clearly said Horaarn authority and as a....” he hesitated, seemed to consider his words before continuing with sarcasm dripping from his next word, “... suspected criminal he must be held in accordance with our laws.”  He waved at the waiting soldiers.

Luke swallowed, suddenly anxious, suddenly afraid as the soldiers came forward, realising that he had just made a potentially serious mistake.

Solo pulled his blaster, Thecla and Haslam likewise raised their weapons.

“Oh, my!” Threepio exclaimed, toddling backward as Artoo whistled.

The Horaarn troopers stopped and raised their own guns.

“Chewie!” Han bellowed.

There was a whine from behind them as the Falcon’s hidden cannons dropped from the hull and turned in their direction.

“Shit...” Luke breathed, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

“Han!” Leia started, trying to retrieve the situation, trying to reassert some semblance of control over her delegation. The last thing the Alliance needed was an interplanetary incident that could see them about-turned and sent home, or gunned down on this snow swept platform. “Stand down! We are on a diplomatic mission and...”

“Then shouldn’t the kid be under diplomatic immunity?” Han pointed out waiving toward Luke with his free hand.

Leia shook her head, raised her voice over the growing gale. “Han, any argument we could have had for diplomatic status was given up as soon as Luke submitted himself to Horaarn law. We have to abide by his choice and the legal system of this planet!”

“Like hell we do!” Han told her. “The kid doesn’t know what he’s doing!”

“The kid does!” Luke burst angrily; temper frayed by Solo’s well meaning interference and his own understanding of why Han was standing up for him. He knew what Solo was doing, he knew why and how he must have looked just a day ago – lost in a fugue, acting on instinct and feelings, alone, lost in the memories of his incarceration on Escaal, of the fiasco over Cusrean, lost in guilt over his actions.

“Han, I have to do this.... the Alliance...”

Han’s mouth turned down. “The Alliance bedamned, Luke. I ain’t letting you do this, I ain’t letting them lock you up again.”

He didn’t want locked up either, didn’t want to sit in a black cell and wonder what was going to happen to him. However, he had made his choice, and the Horaan’s were not the Empire – they were allies. The only questions he would face were those posed by the committee, the only pain he would suffer was being separated from his friends.

Luke forced a smile and a chuckle, trying to mellow the Corellian’s ire. “They’re not the Empire, besides how are you going to stop me? Shoot them and start a diplomatic incident?”

Han knew what the kid was doing. He knew what was at stake here, knew what the Alliance - what Leia - stood to lose here should shots be fired. He knew what the Empire stood to gain. But that didn’t mean he had to like it – or be happy to go along with it.

He knew, too, what the kid was sacrificing by volunteering himself into Horaarn custody. He reluctantly thumbed the safety on and holstered his weapon.

“No, I’m gonna shoot you,” he warned Luke as Thecla and Haslam likewise lowered their weapons and the Falcon’s guns retracted.

The Horaarn First Minister nodded to his soldiers and they swarmed toward Luke, took his arms and moved him away from Han and Leia. He was turned around, a thick, heavy metal belt was secured around his waist, and his hands were brought behind him and cuffed into restraints that were welded to the belt. A line dropped and his ankles were likewise shackled.

He fought his initial panic, the rush of consternation, the whine of white noise that filled his senses and made clear thinking difficult. He had to fight it; he had to struggle to remain calm at the feel of cool fetters around his limbs once more. He had to keep telling himself this was not Escaal, these people were not Rhovan and that his tormentor was back on Adralii with the Alliance.

He could hear Leia and Han protest about the “excessive restraints,” and Artoo shrieking as the locks were secured.

 He was turned back around and pushed forward by the lead trooper toward the landing platform’s exit and the speeders that sat there gathering snow.

“Master Luke!” Threepio exclaimed, helplessly.

“Wait!” Leia called, stalling Luke’s removal. Turning to the First Minister she asked, “Where are you taking him?”

“The Lieutenant Commander will be taken to a secure facility,” the First Minister explained to Leia. “He will be held there until the committee has convened to review the events over Cusrean.” He seemed to see her concern, her worry and hastened to reassure her. “You have my word that he will be well treated and released back to your custody as soon as the proceedings are concluded.”

“I want to be able to see him,” the Princess demanded.

Teraten nodded. “Of course... although I feel the holding facility would not be appropriate for your highness. We shall have the Lieutenant Commander brought to your apartments before the committee meeting convenes in the morning. Will that suffice?” 

Leia reluctantly nodded, knowing that was the only concession she was going to get at this point. Deeply uneasy and unhappy at this turn of events she turned to her friend. Luke seemed to be muttering to himself and something wrenched within her when she was close enough to hear what he was saying.

“I’m okay,” he was whispering. “I’m okay...I’m okay...”

Luke felt a hand on his bruised and cut cheek and only then did he realise his eyes were closed. He opened them, looked down as Leia reached up and kissed his cheek. “You really are an idiot, Luke,” she chided, softly.

He shrugged, tried to grin, and blinked away the snowflakes that landed on his eyes lashes. “I’ll be fine.” It was only a few days, a few days and they would be leaving this place.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for the hearing,” she assured him. “Then we leave, I promise.”

His arms were taken as the phalanx of troopers closed in around him and he was half marched, half dragged across the snow-covered landing platform.

 “I’m going with him,” Han told them moving forward, his voice still tight with fury.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Teraten stopped him; “You shall remain here with your ship, as will the escort the Alliance provided for Skywalker.”

Incredulous anger flushed Han’s features. He looked to Leia for her support, but she shook her head, her eyes pleading with him not to take this too far, not to push the situation.

“My place is with Luke or the Princess,” he argued, trying to temper his anger, trying not to let his gut instinct that this situation stank like a Gundark’s nest override his common sense. There was more going on here than just a committee meeting. Luke being locked up was just a small part of it.

 Han knew that if he pressed too far he could trip whatever trap the Horaarn’s had them in. That would force them to show their hand before he was ready and that could be fatal for Leia, for Luke, for them all.

The Ambassador stepped in at Han’s words, his tone demeaning and derogatory. “You are extremely lucky, Captain, that you are not accompanying your young friend to prison given your display of a few moments ago. Any further infraction on your part and you, the Princess and Skywalker will be expelled from Horaarn and our support for the Alliance will be withdrawn completely.”

Han could hear the lie in the Ambassador’s words and he knew that expulsion was not an option. He didn’t know what the Horaarn’s were planning but he had a feeling the Empire was somehow involved.

“Now, Fuhret,” the First Minister admonished, “there is no need for that. The Princess and her friends are guests. Let us put this unpleasant incident behind us.” He offered Leia his arm. “Your Highness let me get you out of this storm and to your accommodation, and may I invite you to dinner this evening?”

Leia shot a final warning glance at Han, caught his eyes, shook her head, kept her back to the Horaarns and mouthed “I know.”

She turned then and took the First Minister’s offered arm, smiling. “I would be delighted to join you, Minister Teraten.” She glanced at the two waiting droids. “Threepio, Artoo, with me.”

Han watched them go, pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck and shivered. There was a scoff behind him.

“That went well,” Thecla observed, dryly.

Solo shot her a foul look and strode up the ramp of the Falcon. Chewbacca was waiting for him just inside the hatch.  He raised an index finger and warned, “Not a word!” as he strode to the cockpit.

He threw himself into his seat, gazing out at the snow as it blanketed the landing platform and stole any view he may have of the surrounding city.

He was aware of Chewbacca and the two soldier’s entering after him, listened as Chewbacca softly woofed his concern and Thecla asked, “What do we do now, sir?”

That was a good question. What did they do?

He had been separated from the Princess and Luke and he had feeling that this would have happened even if he hadn’t drawn his weapon.  He knew they had been played, the Princess knew it, and dammit even Luke couldn’t be that naive.

And Luke was alone.

They could have tried to pull out, called Horaarn a loss and returned to the Alliance. But Han’s instinct told him they wouldn’t have been allowed to leave, knew that Leia had felt the same. He had a feeling that secured to the buildings surrounding them and hidden by the snow storm were turbo cannons pointing at his ship, at them.

This felt planned, felt like there was a lot more going on here than some diplomatic talks and negotiations.

This definitely felt like the Empire.

“Chewie,” he said, making his mind up. “I want you to make sure the Falcon’s a hundred percent, I have a feeling we’ll be blasting out of here...”

The Wookiee barked, laughed.

Han grinned. “Yeah, just like Tatooine, only more intense.”

“And us, Captain?”

Han glanced around at the non-com. “Sergeant, I want you and your Dug....” he paused as he sensed the larger man stepping forward and Thecla moving in front of him. Han grinned, not looking back. “... to patch into their communications, see if you can find anything in their transmissions.”

“Anything, else?”

“Keep your weapons at hand and fully charged. For now we wait.”

“For what?”

“For Leia to make contact with us and tell us what she needs or for the Horaan’s to make their next move.”

Haslam snorted, the sound setting Han’s teeth on edge. “Any communications with us will be monitored,” he pointed out.

“Yup,” Solo conceded, with a nod, “but Leia has something they don’t.”

“What’s that?” the sergeant asked.

“Artoo Detoo,” Han told them, smiling at the storm that raged outside.

ooOOoo

To be continued....

 


	10. Absolute Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhovan heads for Horaarn, while Han hatches a plan and Leia has an unsettling dinner with the First Minister of Horarn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Previous Disclaimers Still Apply.....

 

** Absolute **

** Part Two **

 

Luke leaned the back of his head against the headrest of the speeder seat and drew in a slow, calming breath as he watched the pilot in front manoeuvre the vehicle through the billowing snow and into the traffic lanes of the Horaarn capital. He could barely see out of the window and had no idea of the route being taken. He knew very little about this world, these people and their customs and he didn’t know where they were taking him.

He shifted slightly, trying to ease the chaffing of the cuffs on his wrists, aware of the wary glances that he received from the two soldiers sitting either side of him.

The city fell away to suburbs and then to open country and still the speeder continued through the snow.

 Luke swallowed, feeling his anxiety levels increasing with each kilometre they travelled. It coiled in his belly, quickening his breathing. They could be taking them anywhere. They could be taking him to hand over to the Empire...

_.... “We will speak at length, one young.”..._

... they could be taking him to a quiet spot to put a blaster to his skull...

_... “Wait! Not like this, not on my knees. Please."_

He closed his eyes, willing away the sudden images of Vader and Taln: one leaning in with a warning, the other pointing a blaster at his head while he pleaded for his life.

He cleared his throat, gathered his courage and asked, “Where are you taking me?”

The soldier beside him regarded him for a moment and Luke had to wonder what impression he made; all dressed up in finery with a bandaged and bruised face.

To his surprise the soldier answered. “To the Rhuin Penitentiary. You are to be held there until the committee hearing has convened.”

The man’s words did nothing to ease his anxieties. Although each world had their own names for prisons, with the same words sometimes having different meanings, Luke knew that, on most, the word “Penitentiary” was generally used to house convicted criminals, ones who were to serve long sentences for violent crime. They were not generally used to hold prisoners on remand, or suspects during investigations, or guests at diplomatic negotiations.

He moved in his seat again, trying to lessen the discomfort of his bound arms and gazed out of the speeder watching the countryside rushing by in the thickening snow, wishing he could relieve his disquiet as easily.

Something was very wrong here.

ooOOoo

The tiny hologram flickered, almost died before the systems kicked in to compensate for interference.

“My...ord... Vad...”

Darth Vader’s fists tightened with frustration at the minor glitch and he allowed his life support system to draw a breath and exhale, taking the time the cycle took to temper and calm his irritation, his desire to simply sweep down to Horaan and take his son by force.

However, that approach had failed in the past and Luke had escaped each time he had tried to grasp onto him.

A more surreptitious approach was required, one that Luke could not fight against, one where he would have little chance of escape, one that would necessitate his being placed into the Empire’s custody.

One that would publically reveal to the Galaxy what his son was capable of, that would further damage the Rebellion’s credibility to the population of the Empire and leave the Alliance floundering for support and his son in his father’s care.

And it would be done legally, to the letter of the law and not hidden behind euphemisms or fabricated rationales for conquest and destruction.

There would be little, or no, blood spilled.

So here he waited, in the shadow of a huge planetary body, concealed behind a massive piece of rock where he had hidden as his son had passed by in the Millennium Falcon. All communications to planet below had been locked down and jammed, picked up only by the Executor’s systems.

The Alliance had sent an urgent message to their emissaries imploring them to abandon the mission and to return, which meant that, somehow, the Rebels had got wind of something, that somehow they had figured out that the invite from Horaarn was not everything it had initially appeared to be.

He smiled beneath his mask, the message had not reached the Millennium Falcon and, as the ship had passed their hiding place, Vader had veiled his presence lest Luke’s budding Force abilities had sensed him.

Although he was confident that the Alliance would not wish bloodshed on a neutral planet by sending a large scale force he had still put his forces on alert for any foolhardy rescue effort that the Rebels may attempt.

“Report,” Vader barked at the hologram once the signal had been boosted.

“It was been done, my Lord,” the figure told him. “Skywalker and his companions reacted as you predicted. He is currently incarcerated in our penal facility, the Princess Leia Organa is alone in the diplomatic apartments and the rest of the Alliance personnel remain sequestered on their ship. They are of course under observation and the landing platform is under heavy guard.”

Pushing down the impulse to rush to the planet’s surface and take Luke now, Vader smiled behind his mask. “You have done well. Ensure that all are well treated and come to no harm – especially Skywalker.”

First Minister Teraten bowed. “As you wish, My Lord.”

The hologram flickered and died, its light fading leaving his chamber in silence and in darkness.

ooOOoo

The spiralling lane of hyperspace raged beyond the cockpit of the A4 Y-Wing that the Alliance had given him for his journey to Horaarn. The Chief Technician had taken him through the foibles of this particular vessel and Rhovan had the distinct feeling that had his mission not been a rescue attempt, she probably wouldn’t have taken the time to explain that the shielding needed constant oscillation to maintain its strength. Nor would she have told him about the sluggish acceleration or the missing laser cannon that would leave him vulnerable to his portside should he come under attack..

“...but, you know,” she shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’ll get you there.”

The unsaid implication was that it may get him to Horaarn but it might not get him back.

It seemed that Skywalker and his friend Antilles, had now told their entire squad and the tech crew who he was and what he had once been.

Not that it unduly concerned him.

He was what he was and he always did what he had to do no matter the cost to others, or to himself.

He yawned, winced as the movement aggravated his healing nose, tried to relax into the pilot’s seat and closed his eyes. He should try to sleep now; he should get what rest he could as he had no idea when he would get the chance to do so again.

But his mind was too active, his thoughts racing over and over possible scenarios for whatever action it was that Vader was planning to take. Was it a simple lure, were the Princess, Skywalker and their companions simply going to be arrested on landing?

He shook his head. No, that was too overt.

The Empire had worked hard at building up the facade of providing relief at Cusrean, at being the caring benefactors to the displaced peoples of that planet, of retrieving bodies from the ruined space station to give back to grieving families.

They were, therefore, unlikely to march on to Horaarn and subjugate a planet that had close ties with the victim of the Alliance attack.

So why was Vader there?

Had he been invited to the negotiations, too?

And if so, for what purpose?

These were talks between the Alliance and the Horaarns – a meeting to salvage relationships. Why would the Empire be invited when their trade agreements and relationship remained good?

He sighed, fighting the pain in his face.

Vader was there for Luke. There was no doubt of that fact. Vader was there to take his son.

But how?

How was he going to accomplish that without aggression and without adding Horaarn to the Empire by conquest, therefore negating the facade they had worked so hard at Cusrean to create in their attempt to tarnish the reputation of the Alliance.

The Empire had no legal jurisdiction on Horaarn so how could the Dark Lord justify interrupting talks to arrest Skywalker? He had no grounds - unless the Horaarns had agreed to join the Empire after the Cusrean incident.

His stomach wrenched with cool anxiety, uneasiness settling over him.

No matter what the scenario, he had to find a way to get to Skywalker.

Get to him and get him out. Or, failing that, neutralise him.

ooOOoo

Leia lifted the fine, crystal glass and took a sip of the rich, red wine. She remembered a time when she would have closed her eyes to savour the flavour as the alcohol slipped easily down her throat. It was delicious: it had been so long - too long - since she had tasted something so exquisite. It had been a long time since she had been surrounded by luxury and opulence; ate off thin, delicate porcelain plates using silver cutlery; sat in a comfortable chair at a large ornate table covered in pure white linen with servants to fill her glass and place her meal before her.

Instead, it now irritated her: disgusted her. There were so many out there, on this planet and elsewhere in the Galaxy, who hungered for food and craved even the most basic of shelters.

She had been shallow in her youth: having so many at her beck and call, having her every need met within the walls of her Father’s palace. It had been all she had known until she expressed an interest to follow her father into politics, into the senate, and her father had taken her away from the luxury… to places where the people suffered abject poverty and horror. Her father had shown her a different side of the Imperial glitter of the Grand Empire: an Empire where life had been ground into bloodied dirt and dust under the heels of Palpatine’s oppression.

She had seen, then, that Palpatine’s Empire had not been about the “Peace and security” he had spoken of in his first appearance as Emperor.  It was about something much simpler than that. It was about power.

Heart saddened and angered, she had pursued her Father’s ambitions, taking them on as her own.

“This is Carn Mor, isn’t it?” she asked, turning the glass in her hand as First Minister Teraten cut into the delicate portion of meat on his plate. “My father used to import this for his functions.”

Teraten chewed the sliver of meat before answering. “From the province of Errlo on Escaal, yes…” He lifted his own glass and briefly toasted her before taking a sip.

Leia winced at the name of the planet, so casually spoken. Escaal was where Luke had been shot down and captured, subjected to interrogation and torture. Leia placed her glass on the table, feeling uncomfortable at the reminder: at knowing Luke was currently in another prison cell while she was indulging in an expensive wine while enjoying an equally expensive meal.

Lifting her napkin she dabbed her lips and set it over her plate indicating that she was finished.

Teraten paused as he ate. “Not hungry, your Highness?” he queried looking at her barely-touched meal.

“My apologies, First Minister. It has been a long trip and I need to review my data before the Committee Hearing tomorrow,” she explained.

“Ah, yes… about that…” Teraten said, putting his cutlery down. He gestured to the waiting servants to clear the table, saying nothing more, keeping Leia waiting and wondering, until they were gone before he spoke again.

Pushing back from the table and lifting his wine glass, he took in a deep breath and a large swallow of his drink before addressing Leia.

“Your Highness,” he began, seeming unsettled and uncomfortable. “Since the fall of the Republic, large sections of the Horaarn people have embraced many of our more…. ancient traditions and cultures: ones we had once set aside as a member of the Grand Republic. Now that we are an independent system, our laws have changed accordingly.”

Leia shifted in her seat suddenly uneasy, disquieted. “I’m not sure I understand you, First Minister.”

“We no longer regard many of the principles and values of the Republic as our own. You witnessed the Ambassador’s demand that your young friend be restrained because our ancient laws call for those who have committed crimes to be restrained, held in custody and not permitted to mingle with the general population. We have no bail system and all criminals are imprisoned.”

Leia ignored the implication that Luke was a criminal as she scrabbled through her mind trying to recall any history lessons on ancient Horaarn law she might have had… She drew a blank. “I’m not sure what this has to do with the committee tomorrow,” she said, slowly, suddenly extremely anxious about Luke and the whole situation.

Teraten had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Princess, on Horaarn we do not presume innocence before guilt, we presume guilt before innocence. An arrest is a conviction. The onus at any legal hearing is on the criminal to prove innocence and…” He licked his lips nervously, before continuing, “As a criminal, Skywalker will not be permitted to enter the apartments you currently occupy.”

Leia rose, her anger tangible but controlled. “You gave your word that Luke would be brought to me before the hearing!”

“The parliament vetoed any such freedoms for him. They will not suffer a criminal to…”

The Princess had to fight to keep her voice controlled, to keep her anger from spilling over into her clipped words. “First Minister, with all due respect, Luke is not a criminal. He was not arrested on Horaarn.”

“No,” Teraten conceded, “but, Lady Mothma informed me that he was being escorted while under arrest. Is that not correct?”

Leia, stared down at the white table cloth, at the glass sitting there. She wanted to lift the glass, wanted to throw the wine in the First Minister’s face. Instead, she steadied her anger and fought to keep her rage at bay. “Yes, but the Alliance recognises the presumption of innocence before guilt. Luke was arrested by us, not by Horaarn law enforcement. Your argument is invalid, Teraten.”

Luke needed to be with her, needed to be prepared, prompted, ready for the questions that would be put to him. Any slip, any hesitation that could add to the doubt the Horaarns already held about the veracity of the attack on the station and the Alliance would lose the system’s support and supplies.

That couldn’t happen. They had lost so much already; had been almost constantly on the run from the Empire since Yavin. The victory they had gained over the Empire’s Death Star had brought the entire might of Palpatine’s armed forces down upon them and the galaxy was suffering for it.

Worlds, like Cusrean, were being plundered for resources to build arms. People were being ensnared and drafted into the army and star fleets. Any who resisted saw their worlds invaded and subjugated, the population slaughtered.

Alderaan had been obliterated because of the Rebellion.

Leia forced her hands to remain relaxed as a wave of despair and grief washed over her, refusing to allow Teraten to see any weakness. Nausea rose in her throat, the rich meal she had shared with Minister Teraten roiling uneasily in her belly.

She looked around the room at the gilded decor, the soft furnishings, the large windows overlooking the snow-swept city.

Everything felt wrong.

Everything felt out of sync: off kilter.

Even her doubts…

She rarely doubted, rarely allowed her convictions to be clouded and questioned. The destruction of Alderaan had merely strengthened her faith in the Rebellion. Her grief drove her, giving her the passion to carry on what her father had conspired to create.

So why did disquiet pick at her, nibble at her and make her question everything?

Leia took in a breath to calm herself as Teraten spoke again, his face sombre. “I am sorry, your Highness. Skywalker agreed to… how was it he put it?”

He made a play of recalling Luke’s words and Leia’s heart sank. She knew what Teraten was about to say.

“Ah, yes… ‘I willingly submit myself to your authority’…” Teraten looked grave. “A courageous and courteous young man. If a little foolish.”

At that moment Leia couldn’t have agreed more. “First Minister…. Surely it is not the Horaarn’s intention to pass judgement and sentence, too? Luke is merely under suspicion of…”

“Striking an Officer in the execution of his duties in a time of war,” he broke in, finishing her sentence. “A capital offense if I’m not mistaken – even under the Old Republic.”

Leia was stunned. That information could only have come from Mon Mothma.

What was going on? This was supposed to have been a relaxing dinner before the committee hearing tomorrow: a hearing to establish the facts about the Cusrean attack, followed by a negotiation to maintain the support of the Horaarn Government and the supplies they currently gave to the Alliance. Suddenly, inexplicably, it had become something else.

It had become about proving Luke’s innocence and Leia couldn’t fathom why.

“Lieutenant-Commander Skywalker has not appeared before court martial! Guilt has not been established and capital punishment is not being considered!” Her voice was clipped, her words sharp. “Luke has suffered enough, First Minister…”

“Ah, yes… He was also arrested by the Empire, on Escaal, for crimes of treason and murder was he not? As I said Your Highness he is considered guilty under Horaarn law.”

This time Leia couldn’t reign in her temper; her panic for her friend. “I am also considered a criminal by the Empire, First Minister?” she snapped. “I have been under arrest and imprisoned by the Empire. Are you going to incarcerate me, too?”

Teraten suddenly laughed, delighted by her anger. “You are your father’s daughter, Princess!  My Goddess, I have missed sparring with him these long years.”

 He poured himself some more wine and offered Leia a top-up. She shook her head, unsure, uncertain if the First Minister has just conned her for his own amusement or if there really was a more sinister undercurrent at work here.

“I’m sorry, Leia,” he said, bringing the formal meal and discussion down to a more personal level by the use of her first name. “I could not resist seeing if you have your father’s passion and I have not been disappointed. Please be assured that we have no intentions towards Skywalker other than his appearance tomorrow at the committee to give his evidence. However, due to our laws as I explained, he cannot be brought to the apartments.”

Leia was quiet. Her anger still stirred, simmering just below the surface. She lifted her wine glass and sloshed the liquid around while she thought, still temped to throw it over her host. “If Luke cannot come to the apartment then perhaps he can be brought early to the assembly rooms, where I can confer with him before the hearing?”

Teraten was quiet and Leia had the feeling he had more to say. “I will try to arrange something, Your Highness, but criminals are also barred from Government buildings therefore the committee is not convening within the assembly rooms as first arranged. It has been rearranged for the High Court…”

“Court….” Leia echoed, her consternation cloying, sickening.

The First Minister smiled. “Yes, the Court has excellent facilities. I don’t know why we didn’t consider it in the first place. Skywalker is to be transported there at oh-seven-thirty. I will see that your transport picks you up shortly thereafter so that you have time to confer with him before the hearing begins. Will that suffice?”

She nodded in acceptance. It seemed that it was the best she was going to get.

He looked at her, his face softening when he noticed her disquiet. Leaning across the table he took her hand in his. Leia wanted to pull away, to jerk her hand from his. His touch was vile and she could not believe that her father was once friends with this man.

“Don’t look so worried, Leia,” he smiled, gently, as though to put her at ease. There was no warmth to his eyes, though: no concern for her or Luke. Instead there was a flare of something else in his dark orbs that Leia struggled to place. “I’m sure that all will go well tomorrow.”

It was only when she was escorted back to her apartment by officers of the First Minister’s protection detail that it came to her. First Minister Teraten had looked scared.

There was only one thing that she could think of if that would have caused such fear in the First Minister.

The Empire.

It explained everything.

If the Empire was threatening the Independence of Horaarn then perhaps she and Luke were the bargaining chips? Hand them both over to the Empire and Horaarn remained free?

Except she had never known the Empire to keep a bargain.

If her suspicions were correct, if her feelings were confirmed and there was more riding on this mission than just supplies, then she knew that the promise she had made to Luke was moot. They would not be leaving after the hearing.

The door to her suite swept open.

 “Your Highness!”

The double doors of her bedroom were open and See Threepio toddled out, pleased to see her.

“Has Artoo managed to patch into the security systems?” Leia asked as soon as they were alone. She stripped away her outer layers and handed them to the droid, knowing her sleep clothes would already be laid out for her.

“Ah, yes, Your Highness...” The droid turned on his heels and followed her into the room. “He has scrambled all monitoring of these rooms and reports that he has been able to bypass several firewalls and access...”

“Has he located Luke?” Leia kicked off her shoes and padded into the adjacent bathroom, beginning to unpick her elaborate hairdo.

Artoo, standing by the wall and fixed to the city’s computer outlet by his scomp link, twittered excitedly.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Threepio affirmed as Artoo bubbled on. “He says that Master Luke is being well cared for and has retired for the night. He is scheduled to leave the prison and travel to the High Court at oh-seven thirty.”

Good. At least that hadn’t changed.

“I’m being picked up around the same time and I’ll need…”

Artoo blew a raspberry.

“What is it?

Threepio looked uncertain. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. But the First Minister has rescheduled your speeder for oh-eight-forty-five.”

Leia stormed into the bedroom. “That son-of-a-b... Can Artoo contact Han?”

A muted bloop, and Leia didn’t need to Threepio to translate that. As yet no contact had been established with the Falcon.

Leia sat on the bed feeling alone, feeling trapped. They were keeping Luke apart from her, keeping her apart from Han and the others. They had them nicely sequestered away from each other and now would be a good time for the Empire to swoop in and take them all.

But if that had been the idea behind the request for Alliance delegates, along with the pilot who had destroyed the Cusrean station, then why not just take them on the landing platform?

Why this elaborate ruse?

If it _was_ a ruse...

Perhaps she was just reading more into this situation than she thought. Perhaps she was just being paranoid. The Horaarns had always been staunch supporters of her father, had keenly supplied the Alliance with food and medical supplies. That’s what this mission was about: about maintaining that affiliation. Leia was sure that relations could be salvaged after the committee saw the data she had to present.

So why keep Luke from her?

She couldn’t march back to Teraten and demand to know why the plans for her transport had been changed. That would give away Artoo’s monitoring of the security systems and they needed Artoo where he was.

She needed to speak to Han. She needed to share her thoughts with him: needed to share her doubts and misgivings and her conflicted notions of what was happening here.

“Keep trying to get Captain Solo, Artoo.”

The little droid blooped in reply and hummed quietly to himself as he worked.

“May I get you something, your Highness?” Threepio asked sadly. “The suite has a well-stocked selection of beverages and...”

“No, thank you, Threepio. Just bring me the diplomatic pouch. I need to review all the data on the attack before tomorrow morning.”

She needed to know what she was saying. She needed to know and understand the data in minute detail. She had to be faultless in her testimony and second-guess what questions she would be asked, what answers would be demanded of her to adequately explain the deaths of over twenty thousand civilians at Alliance hands.

At Luke’s hands.

A stiff bow and a muted “Yes, Your Highness,” was her reply.

Leia rose from the edge of the bed and crossed to the large window. She stood still and watched the snow storm rage beyond, watched flurries caught by the wind dance in the external light of the apartment block. It was stark and beautiful but Leia was not fooled by its charms. She knew just how dangerous such a storm could be when caught in one.

ooOOoo

“Anything yet?” Han asked the sergeant as he threw himself into the acceleration couch and rubbed a hand over his face, his palm scraping across rough stubble. It was a rhetorical question, just something to say to break the quiet that had fallen over the ship; he knew the soldier would have advised him the minute Artoo Detoo had been able to connect him with Leia.

Thecla shook her head, glancing over at him from the engineering station where she was monitoring the comms.

 “Nothing, sir.... and the public channels are only broadcasting replays of the battle and the time of the committee hearing with the promise to the people that they will hear Luke Skywalker himself explaining his actions.”

Han winced. It had been an unwelcome surprise to learn that the hearing would be broadcast and he worried how Luke would manage in the limelight. The sooner Artoo could splice through the city’s comm systems and establish a link the better.

“He’ll not let us down,” Han told her, absently. “He’s a tenacious little bugger.”

Thecla looked confused. “Uh, sir... are we talking about Skywalker... I mean the Lieutenant-Commander?”

Han snorted laughter, “I was talking about the droid, but yeah, Luke’s a tenacious little bugger, too. The kid never knows when to give up…” He paused, thought for a moment before finishing… “Which is probably why we’re all here.”

He watched her smile, watched her turn back to the comms. He grinned, sat up and leaned over the table. So, he hadn’t misunderstood the looks she shot the kid, or how she had reacted when Luke appeared all dressed up.

 “You like him?” He stated, sounding sure. “Don’tcha?”

Thecla stiffened and Han didn’t miss the light flush that coloured her face as she turned further away from him.

“Ah! I knew it! There’s something between you two!”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Thecla told him coolly, frowning as she concentrated on her duties. “There is nothing between the Lieutenant Commander and myself.”

Han knew he had her. “But you’d like there to be, wouldn’t you?”

Thecla sighed, turned around as she rubbed at her tired eyes. She’d been trying to track comm. transmissions for hours and was getting nowhere. “Sir…”

“Han,” he told her.

“Captain Solo, sir, I…”

“Han,” he repeated, having fun.

Another sigh. “The Lieutenant Commander…”

“Luke,” Han supplied, with a grin.

Thecla smiled in spite of herself. “… is a commissioned officer. I am a non-com. He is a pilot. I’m infantry. We don’t fraternise.”

Han wasn’t giving up. “But you’d like to, wouldn’t you?”

Thecla held his gaze as long as she could before she couldn’t help but grin and laugh. “I wouldn’t mind checking out his thrusters if that’s what you mean, sir.”

Han laughed aloud, impressed by the petite soldier. Luke would be a lucky man when he finally got around to knowing her a little better; she was feisty! The kid could use getting laid right about now: it was probably the best medicine for him. Even a five minute frig in a closet was worth more to a man’s soul than hours sat in a chair talking to a head shrinker. Not that Han would dissuade Luke from attending his appointments – the kid needed all the help he could get.

“Just don’t say anything to Haslam, he wouldn’t understand,” she requested as she turned back to her task.

Han gestured, ‘lips sealed’ with his fingers to his mouth. “Where is he anyway?” he was suddenly aware that neither the large soldier nor his co-pilot were anywhere to be seen and it was awfully quiet.

“Outside,” Thecla said, frowning as she ran the scans over the comm channels again. “Haslam wanted to reconnoitre the landing platform, see if there was any way off. The Wookiee took a toolkit, I figured he was using repairs as a cover for Haslam being outside.”

“Tool kit?” Han said uneasily, he hoped Chewie hadn’t forgotten they may need to make a quick exit and wasn’t attempting modifications while they were stuck here. “I’ll uh… I’ll see how they’re getting along.”

Han slid from the couch and grabbed his jacket, pulling it on as he walked to the hatch. He hit the release and walked down as it lowered. The wind hit him immediately and a flurry of snowflakes drifted into the ship. Pulling his collar tighter around his neck, Han ducked down under the ship. It was dark now and the snow was heavily blanketing and muffling the area.

For a space port it was awfully quiet. Han wondered if the snow was impeding travel, or if everything was being redirected away from the area because the Falcon sat here. He suspected the latter. He suspected that turbo cannons were aimed on his position from various vantage points, that the exit of the landing bay was heavily guarded and that the snow effectively dulled the spot lights the Horaarn’s had washed the place with.

He also knew that any sound monitoring systems the Horaarn’s had set up were being scrambled by the Falcon’s jamming. Anything said within the ship and within twenty metres outside of the ship would be heard as static. He just hoped it would hold up.

So far the snow blinkered everything. That just might work in their favour if they had to blast out of here. They only had to find a way to interfere with the Horaarn’s scanners and infrared readings, which is what Artoo was for.

“Chewie? You here?”

A muted growl was his answer and Han went searching under the ship. The ground here was relatively clear of snow and he found his partner and the soldier both crouched on the ground.

“What is it?”

Haslam looked up, gesturing to square grating on the floor.  “It’s a drain. Not ray shielded. We thought we had found a way off this platform, but it’s too small for any of us to get through.”

Han came around them, hunkered down beside them. A drainage system had to come out somewhere in the city. It would be an advantage to have one of them free to roam, free to check up on the Princess and Luke.

But the hole was smaller than any of the three of them and it may get thinner further in the tunnels.

 He glanced around, couldn’t see any other drain covers under the ship. There may be others on the platform, but they’d be snow covered and in the open for prying eyes to see.

It had been a good idea but…

“Captain?” Thecla called from the bottom on the hatch. “I have something!”

_At last!_

Han started forward, eager to speak with Leia. Then he stopped and looked back at the grating. “Sergeant?” he called, “Just how skinny are you?”

ooOOoo

“They keep changing things…” Leia paced as she spoke with Han over the secured comlink channel that Artoo had created for them. “First I was to come alone, then Luke was to come. Luke was to be brought here this morning so we could travel together to the Assembly Hall, then he was to meet me there. Now my speeder won’t get me there in time to see him before the hearing. Han…”

She paused turning to walk the other way. “…they’ve changed the venue. It’s now the Horaan High Court.”

“High Court?” Han echoed, his voice tinny over the small device she clutched. “What’s the deal?”

Leia sat on the bed, wilting with fatigue and anxiety. “A criminal is not allowed on Government property – or something like that.”

“So much for innocent until proved guilty…” Han grumbled.

“On Horaarn it’s the other way around,” Leia informed him. “He’s guilty until proved innocent. I won’t even get to speak with him, now.”

Han was quiet for a moment. “Leia, did they tell you it’s going out on the holonet?”

Leia chilled, staring at the small comlink in her hand as though it was a foreign and strange thing she held. She rubbed at her forehead, feeling the pressure increase.

“No,” she said thickly, suddenly more afraid: suddenly realising just how much they have been lied to and manipulated. “They didn’t”

“This is bantha shit, Leia,” Solo told her succinctly, getting straight to the point as always. “What do you want us to do?”

Leia hesitated.

_What do I want to do?_

I want to run. I want to get Luke back and run. I want to tell the Horaarns that the deal is off; that we have no intention of going ahead with this farce; that we will no longer grovel for their support – they either believe in the Alliance or they don’t.

But the consquences…

They had lost so much recently, were running scared…

The supplies were…

_The supplies are already lost…_

She closed her eyes briefly at the truth of her inner thoughts. She didn’t have to be a Jedi to know that. She didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know that the Alliance had been brought here under false pretences and the Horaarns had an entirely different objective in mind.

_Why broadcast the hearing? What were the Horaarns gaining by that? What would the Alliance lose?_

But, they couldn’t run.

They couldn’t call it off.

She had a feeling they wouldn’t be allowed.

They had been backed into a corner and had to see it through; no matter what the Horaarns were up to, no matter what their agenda towards the Alliance, towards Luke, was.

_The Empire…_

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t prepare.

“I have a feeling you have an idea,” she smiled. Han was brimming with ideas – not always good ones, or successful ones, but he always had them.

“Yeah, I have a few.” He sounded awkward, unconvinced of his plan’s success. “I need Artoo to slice into the city’s mainframe. I need him to disable the scanners and thermal imaging they have on us. I need any sound monitoring shut off. And, Leia….?”

She could see him running his hand through his unruly hair.

“… tell the little guy to be discreet.”

Leia smiled, knowing Han was trying to get off the platform without the Horaarns being aware of him. “I’ll have him send the city schematics to you.”

“Just what I need, sweetheart,” there was a smile in voice.

“Thanks, Han.”

“That’s why I’m here – to keep you and the kid outta trouble.”

“You haven’t been very successful so far,” She told him, grinning, feeling happier and feeling that someone had her back after all.

“Yeah?” The word was snorted with gentle humour. “So what do ya call the Death Star?”

She laughed. “A fluke.”

“A fluke?” he rasped, sounding hurt.  She knew he wasn’t.

“Besides,” she told him, “the rescue was Luke’s idea.”

Grinning she shut off the comm before he could reply, effectively shutting him up.

She felt better having talked with Han: felt that she wasn’t quite so alone in this. She had no idea what he was planning or what the execution of it would be. She only hoped that it worked and that when the trap was truly sprung on them, they would have an open escape route.

ooOOoo

_She shot out the door controls, securing it shut and looked at him. He could see indecision and fear in her eyes – the first time that he had seen any weakness, any sign that the seasoned warrior held such emotions._

_“Now what?”_

_There was a thud against the door as though something hard and heavy had struck it. A klaxon rang out, a loud insistent electronic alarm._

_“Now what?” she called again, shouting to be heard over the noise._

_The door was hit again, the middle buckling..._

_Luke grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the large, ornate windows. He pushed them open and stepped onto the balcony, into the heavy curtain of falling snow. His feet crunched in the thick drift that had collected at the balustrade._

_He looked down and over the edge, at the icy river he knew lay beneath them._

_“We can’t!” she shouted as the door was hammered once more._

_“We have no choice!” he shouted back, climbing up onto the stone banister and offering her his hand again._

_She hesitated, glanced back into the warm room._

_The door burst open, spilling soldiers in white armour into the room._

_“Now!” he yelled._

_She grabbed his hand, climbed up beside him and at the first shout of “Stay where you are!” they jumped together into the air, into the snow and fell hitting the water feet first._

_The sudden cold drove the breath from him, his grip on her slipping as the strong current caught them and tugged and pulled at them. Thecla’s hand was wrenched from his. Luke frantically felt through the water, arms flailing as he tried to find her in the dark water. But with his lungs burning for air, he kicked, propelling his body upward, muscles working against the currents. He burst through the surface, gasping in a breath of freezing air, frantically looking around for her._

_“Thecla!”_

_A shadow fell over him and he turned in the water..._

Luke started awake with a gasp, heart hammering as the insistent klaxon still sounded in his ears.

It took a moment for him to realise it was an alarm he heard, the same one from his dream, but that he wasn’t running from chasing stormtroopers, or flailing in freezing water. He was lying under a thick quilt, in a warm bed.

And the alarm was sounded to wake him.

He groaned, partly from relief, partly from a desire to curl up under the covers and fall back asleep, but the alarm continued and, as sleep retreated, he realised where he was and what today meant.

“Shit...” he breathed, pushing aside the thick bedding and sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The alarm silenced at his movement and the cell intercom crackled.

“Sir? You have an hour before the speeder leaves for the High Court. Your clothes...”

There was a slight scraping sound and a panel in the cell wall slid aside, revealing his uniform neatly folded in a recess.

“... have been cleaned for you and breakfast will be delivered once you are dressed.”

Luke couldn’t help but smile as he swung his legs out of bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, his feet flat and warm against the floor covering.

If this was how they treated criminals on this planet he must break some laws here. This was more luxury than he had ever known in his life.

The outside of the penitentiary was as forbidding as he had expected. Thick, high, grey walls had loomed in front of the speeder through the snow storm. The massive gates had raised just enough to allow the vehicle access into a well-lit tunnel that had angled downward under the main prison building.

His anxiety had been at its highest when the speeder had come to a stop inside a small garage and a door had swooped shut behind it with a heavy clang. A small side door had cracked open and Luke had seen a detachment of armed prison guards waiting for him.

It was at this point that the surprises had come.

“Welcome, Lieutenant Commander,” the lead officer had said without a trace of sarcasm and offered Luke his hand to help him out of the speeder.

And when Luke had tripped over his feet because of the shackles he was told. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll have you out of those in a few moments and you’ll be more comfortable.”

He had been taken into a well-equipped medical bay, shackles and cuffs removed, allowed to shower privately and given a medical. His still-healing back wound and the injuries to his face were noted and painkillers offered. He was then asked to change into the prison attire; loose fitting black pants and a similarly loose tunic with an orange patch stitched into the sleeve.

“We have categorised you as a remand prisoner, sir,” an officer told him, tapping the patch. “Your uniform will be washed and returned to you for the committee hearing tomorrow.”

He was lead from the area into a corridor and then a turbolift that headed upward into the facility before stopping several stories up. From there he was taken along a corridor of cells. Clearly of Imperial design, the cells sent tendrils of fright along his spine. When they finally stopped, and the door shot open, he was expecting to see the dark, bland, interior of the Death Star detention facility, or the tiny closet size of cell he had been held in on Cusrean.

It was neither.

It was a room.

A very white room.

A room with a view, no less... The transparisteel window looked out to the raging winter storm beyond. There was a real bed covered in white sheets and a heavy quilt. A small table was laid with food. There was a holonet player and in the corner, placed discretely behind a wall, was a wet room with a ‘fresher and a shower.

“I trust you will be comfortable, sir,” he was told before the door closed behind him.

He had spent his evening watching the holonet, catching up on news events and current affairs – although the Committee Hearing the next day wasn’t mentioned - while snacking on the food. When the holo player had been shut off and the lights blinked out, he had lain on the bed and dragged the quilt across his body. He had plumped up the pillows and lay, watching the window as eddies of snow fell against the dark of the night, until he fell asleep.

Now, Luke stood and stretched, rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension he felt growing at the thought of sitting in front of strangers while giving an account of his actions over Cusrean. He glanced back at the window.

It had stopped snowing. The view was of massive snow covered walls and beyond them rolling countryside bathed in pure crystalline light as the rising sun glinted off the fresh snow.

It was beautiful, stark and quite foreboding and Luke felt a shudder of apprehension ripple through him. There was something wrong here, something not quite what it seemed: his senses were unsettled. An eddy of anticipation twisted his belly.

It was like Escaal, before the troopers had found his hiding place: that certain knowledge that something was about to happen, but he just didn’t know what.

It was like Ra’imar just before Vader’s attack on the base…

_…Vader…_

He shook himself.

No. It couldn’t be Vader… He didn’t sense him.

_…reach out with your feelings…_

He turned from the window.

No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t take the chance that Vader might sense him and bring the Empire down upon his friends, upon Leia, and destroy all hope of maintaining the relationship between the Horaarns and the Alliance.

Luke glanced around the room once more. He had the hunch that the comfortable cell, the kind treatment was all an act designed to fool him, designed to put him at ease and lull him into a false sense of security before the real cell door closed on him.

Feeling uneasy about the day ahead Luke turned from the window and, reaching for his uniform, he began to dress.

ooOOoo

Darth Vader smiled behind his mask.

His son was disconcerted, unbalanced, his presence in the Force tinged with anticipation and nervousness.

Luke fought the urge to reach out, struggling against his instinct to touch the Force. He was so unsure of his powers, his abilities and talents, afraid to use them.

_Someday, my son, you will have no such fear, no such qualms. You will be a storm across the Galaxy, levelling all opposition in your path._

Not that Luke would have sensed his father even if he had sought the Force. Vader had cloaked himself, wrapping his presence in the heavy folds of the dark side. He was hidden from Luke, he was a vague shadow, nothing more, and he would only reveal himself when the time was right.

Then he would take his son into custody.

Before the entire galaxy, Luke Skywalker would be placed into his care. Luke would have no choice but to submit to the authority of the law.

Vader piloted the shuttle himself, easing the ship out of his private docking bay to join the waiting troop transporters and landing craft that had been assembled to accompany him to the surface.

ooOOoo

The Y-Wing dropped from hyperspace and Rhovan knew immediately that he was too late. The super star destroyer loomed over the planet, TIE fighters buzzing about its body like carrion flies around dead flesh. He checked his scanners, adjusted the range and could make out a small group of ships heading for the surface of Horaarn.

Rhovan frowned. Too small to be an invasion. Too big to be an escort.

What was going on here?

_Vader’s going to retrieve his son._

He ignored the biting sarcasm of his inner voice.

How was Vader going to retrieve his son? Was he invading? If he wasn’t invading, if he wasn’t going to take the planet as ruthlessly as he had others then why transports? Why not go himself with a smaller escort?

There was another explanation, one that had been Rhovan's fear all along. Vader had made some sort of deal to get Skywalker

Made a deal using what?

Money? Horaarn was a wealthy planet with a strong ecomony.

Power? The Horaarns had no desire to gain more power. It was independent of both the Empire and the Alliance. It was its own master, it wouldn’t come to heel for Palpatine.

Perhaps that was it. If Skywalker was handed over to Vader, Horaarn would not be invaded, would not be added to the growing tally of Imperial worlds ruled by ruthless Moffs.

It was blatant, but simple.

However... there was another possibility. Cusrean and Horaarn had common ancestry, more than that, they were close allies and had forged tight treaties that dated back to long before the Empire; before the Republic. Attack one, and you attacked both. It had instigated war with surrounding systems on more than one occasion.

Cusrean had eagerly joined the Empire, the militaristic show of power, the strict rules and control of the masses appealed to the planet’s leadership. They were welcomed by Palpatine who recognised the natural resources the planet. Metals and minerals – ideal for building his war machines. It had been stripped over the last two decades until now, until the planet was breathing its last and its people fleeing and needing a home.

Horaarn had remained independent after the fall of the Republic, had worked hard to maintain its status by working with both the Empire and the Alliance. However, its political views had always seemed to lean toward the Alliance, toward democracy.

Despite their opposite political views Horaarn had welcomed many homeless Cusreans, the Government working hard to integrate millions of them into their society, into their culture and economy.

Rhovan pressed the tips of his fingers against his forehead. His head was hammering, his nose still swollen and sore from Solo’s punch, eyes black from the resulting bruising. He was tired, wired.

He had to work fast, had to get past that Super Star Destroyer and onto planet below. Had to figure out exactly how Vader was working this.

Horaarn was an ally of Cusrean.

Cusrean was part of the Empire.

They were allies, they had common treaties and…

It slammed home. The sudden understanding chilling him; he knew what Vader was planning.

“Shit!”

Behind him his R2 unit warbled in reply.

He ignored it as he drew closer to the Imperial ship, adrenalin pumping, headache pounding.

Then…

A sudden burst of laser fire across his bow and a crackle over his comm.

“Rebel Fighter, power down and be prepared to be tractored aboard. Any resistance will be met with deadly force.”

He couldn’t afford to be stopped. Couldn’t afford this delay although he had known he would have to deal with this situation.

He toggled his comm. “Executor, this is Major Erwin Rhovan, service number three-three-five-six-nine-nine-nine-zero-nine-two. I am on a classified mission and should not be stopped nor intercepted. I repeat…” As he recited his words he could see a squadron of TIE fighters drop from the hanger bays and head in his direction.

There was a moment of static as his credentials were checked. The reply was not unexpected.

“Major Rhovan, there is a current warrant for you arrest. You are ordered to power down and be tractored aboard. I repeat, deadly force has been authorised.”

“Lord Vader is not privy to my mission. Authorisation code aurek-aurek-three-three-four-zero-Dorn.”

Seconds ticked past as this too was verified and just when he thought that it wasn’t going to work, he saw the approaching TIES loop around and head back to the ship. He could almost feel the nervous tension from the ship as his comm crackled back to life.

“Major Rhovan, we apologise, sir. Should we advise Lord Vader to expect you?”

He would still be arrested on sight if Vader knew he was about to land.

“Negative, as I said Lord Vader is not privy to my mission and our conversation and my presence here will be struck from the record. It never happened and I am not here. Understood?”

“Completely, Major.”

“To whom am I speaking?”

“Piett, sir. Captain Piett.”

“Thank you for your co-operation, Captain. If you will, please contact Horaarn control on my behalf and have a speeder waiting for me on my arrival.”

“Of course, sir,” there was a long silent pause while his order was carried out. “Major, we have you on a cresh-one-aurek approach. Landing platform three-three-five, expect cross winds and heavy snowfall.”

“Thank you.”

He cut the comm and input the given vector to the autopilot. The Y-Wing veered downward, cutting through the atmosphere, shuddering with turbulence as the air burned around the cockpit. Then he was down and into dark swelling clouds, flying through snow so thick that he could see nothing around him despite the sensors indicating he was entering the Horaarn capital city.

Gritting his teeth he passed all control over to the astromech droid, not trusting his own piloting skills, or the battered rebel ship for that matter, to see him safely down.

The landing was softer than he had imagined and he popped the canopy and drew himself out into the falling snow. Jumping down he opened a storage hatch in the fuselage and retrieved a bag. He quickly stripped from his flight suit and shoved it away into the open compartment.

 Pulling at the hem of his jacket to straighten the uniform he had worn under the rebel clothing, he donned his cap and turned at the sound of an approaching vehicle.

He wasn’t too surprised to find that it was an Imperial troop transport, nor was he surprised to find a squad of stormtroopers spilling from it and heading in his direction. It was an outcome he had thought possible.

“Major Rhovan, you will come with us, sir.” The leader trooper voice gave no room for quarrel, as he cradled his heavy weapon in his arms.

A snow flake landed on Rhovan’s nose, his breath misted in the cold air. “I am not to be impeded in my mission, sergeant.”

The trooper took in the dark uniform; the insignia and the rank that adorned it.

“Forgive me, sir, but Lord Vader has need of your services.”

“And where is Lord Vader just now?”

“He is heading to the court house, sir.”

“And Skywalker?”

“Is already there.”

“Excellent, I must compliment Lord Vader on his efficiency.”

Rhovan stepped forward into his phalanx of guards and stooped down into the transporter. As he sat down he knew, just as well as the troopers around him, that despite the absence of handcuffs, despite not being verbally cautioned, he was very much under arrest.

Vader’s men were nothing, if not loyal. He must have words sometime with that Captain.

 


	11. Absolute Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han and Thecla devise a plan to try and assist Luke and Leia while Luke stands alone facing the Committee hearing investigating the destruction of the Cusrean Space Station. 
> 
> Meanwhile Rhovan is about to have the tables turned on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I own nothing of Star Wars and just enjoy playing in the Universe for fun. 
> 
> Rhovan, however, is mine.

** Absolute  **

** Part Three **

 

“How’s it lookin?”

Thecla tried to twist around in the tight confines of the drain as she climbed her way down. She glanced up, seeing the corded durasteel she was hooked onto trail above her. She was several metres down the shaft, hanging from the belly of the Millenium Falcon.

“It looks dark, cold and wet!”

She could feel the chill seeping through Skywalker’s old flight suit that she wore over the civilian clothes she had changed into. The idea was to add some protection from the contaminants of the sewer system so she didn’t smell so bad when she emerged, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be much help and the orange fairly screamed “Rebel” should anyone see her.

Han grinned. Yup, feisty! Luke would like her, probably already did like her but was too shy, or too messed up just now to do anything about it. “So, apart from that, how does it look?”

“Tight,” she gritted her teeth, wriggled, dropped a few more centimetres. She probably didn’t need the line, she could have just slowly worked her way down without it. But the line wasn’t to get her down, it was to get back up should she need, too. However, if their plan was successful she would need to find another way to get back onto the platform to make good their escape; Luke Skywalker would never fit in the hole.

She slipped another few inches, felt her feet swing free below her.

“I’m there!” she dropped and found herself swinging freely on the line. It was pitch dark, but she could feel air bush past her, could hear running water.

“Okay,” Han called out; he glanced at Haslam who handed him a flashlight and Thecla’s side arm and holster. “Catch!”

Thelca watched the silhouette of the flashlight fall toward her and easily caught it. Her blaster and holster followed. She turned the torch on, swung it around the chamber and grinned. “It’s just as the droid said! I can see the adjoining tunnels.”

“Okay,” Han called down. “So you remember the plan?”

Thecla smiled grimly. She could hardly forget it. It was so simple. After gaining the data requested and being advised that the lieutenant Commander’s droid had rendered all surveillance of their platform ineffective – he’d blacked out a quarter of the city under the guise of a power plant failure due to the storm – she was to work her way into the storm drain, make her way into the sewer tunnel, follow the path Artoo had marked out that would take her directly under the court house. There was a secured and ray shielded access portal that would take her into an abandoned subway system that was once used to transport prisoners to and from the jails and prisons.

From there she should be able to get into the building itself. And then…

“…you know,” the Corellian had told her, “make it up as you go along.”

All she had was a flashlight, a blaster pistol, the clothes she wore and a comlink.

This would be easy.

“Good luck, Sarg,” Haslam, shouted down. And she knew he only wanted her back safely, Haslam didn’t give bantha shit about Skywalker.

“Yeah,” Solo added, “Good hunting.”

ooOOoo

_…shouldn’t be here!_

Luke sucked saliva into his mouth and licked his lips trying to wet his parched mouth. He swallowed, dryly, tried not to gag at the nausea crawling up his throat. Agitation worried him, made him restless, bade him move; screamed at his senses….

_…shouldn’t be here!_

… to take action.

To avoid what was coming.

But he couldn’t move, wasn’t allowed to move from this spot.

Taking in a deep breath, trying to calm his fraught nerves, he let his eyes wander around the court room.

It was a vast arena. At the rear three tiers of public galleries rose toward the ceiling with hundreds of seats. On the floor was more yet more seating. Behind him, sectioned off, were what he supposed to be areas for a jury, for lawyers and other court officials. Before him was a raised dias with seven large, black, high backed chairs, sitting behind slate grey marble panelling. The aurebesh symbols “Dorn” “Vev” and “Jenth” were etched into the middle section and he briefly wondered what the letters stood for in Horaarn society.

On the wall behind the dais was the flag of Horaarn. Heavy fabric, vibrant green with the same aurebesh symbols stitched in gold. A vaulted, transparisteel ceiling rose high above the chamber. During the summer months it would allow natural light to flood the hall, but for now the windows were covered in layers of fallen snow and the court room was lit artificially with lights that hung from thin corded durasteel lines that crisscrossed the massive space.

Luke was standing in the middle of all this, on a small square platform, arms firmly fixed in binders behind his back, shackles around his ankles, thick belt around his waist to which both binders and shackles were fixed. Directly above him hung a light, illuminating him brightly for the court, its heat already warming the air around him and he knew that as the day went on it would become uncomfortable, unbearable and he knew that was the point.

He swallowed again, anxiety and fear churning within. It wasn’t just about being here and worrying about the coming hearing. It was something else, something he couldn’t quite grasp.

_Shouldn’t be here…._

He shifted his feet, grimaced as his lower back muscles cramped. He’d been standing for almost an hour now as he waited for the court room to fill and proceedings to begin. He had been the first one to be brought in by members of Horaarn’s black garbed, security forces and politely directed to this spot where he was told he would be for the duration of hearing.

Once he was in place the soldiers, or police forces – he didn’t know which – took their places behind him and so they had waited in silence.

He drew in a breath, looked up at the ceiling. Just wanting this day over and put behind him. If all went well he and Leia could be back with others on the Falcon and heading back to the base at the end of it.

Heading back to…

_Court martial._

Closing his eyes, he lowered his head. Shifted his feet once more trying to find an easier stance, but the chains around his ankles didn’t allow him to move his legs very far apart and he was forced to stand how they wanted. Again he was sure this was deliberate.

_Court martial._

He knew he wouldn’t be facing the severest of punishments, Leia had already told him that should he be found guilty that the Alliance wouldn’t shoot him.

Which was...good.

On the way to Horaarn she had explained that extenuating circumstances would be considered and that the court would be even more lenient if he pled guilty. That had started an argument with Han and he had slumped low on the acceleration couch as they fought, their voices droning loudly in the background although he paid no mind to words being said.

He _was_ guilty.

He had punched Rhovan. He had pulled a weapon. He wasn't sorry. He didn’t feel sorry about it at all.

He opened his eyes, tearing his thoughts away from Rhovan and that cell on Escaal before they could flood his mind with memories and images best left unremembered.

_“We will speak at length, young one.”_

He shook his head, annoyed that Vader’s words had broken through. Annoyed he was letting his thoughts wander to past events. He should be concentrating on today, on what he was going to say, on how he was going to explain his actions.

How did you explain why you killed over twenty thousand people? How did you explain that there was a little girl out there, tumbling in space with seared skin and clothing because he had obeyed an order against his own knowledge that his target was benign?

A door slashed open to his side startling him and pulling him from his thoughts. He took in a breath trying to calm himself but his stomach churned and twisted with renewed anxiety as others began to filter in.

First more security personnel took up their stations at each door way, helmeted soldiers carrying heavy blasters, then the public galleries began to fill and the murmur of voices droned through the area, growing louder with each passing moment.

The heat in the room grew as it filled, as the light above him burned. He was beginning to sweat, could feel pinpoints of fluid begin to bead on his forehead, and could feel the high collar of his borrowed uniform tighten around his neck. His breathing quickened as robed court officials entered and took up their places. He glanced around, looking for Leia, desperate to see a friendly face among the sea of strangers who looked upon him with a mixture of hostility and curiosity, but he couldn’t see her, couldn’t find her.

_Get out!_

“Shit,” he swore under his breath, fighting his instinct to run, knowing he wouldn’t get far in binders and shackles.

“Sir,” a hand was laid on his shoulder and one of his guards leaned in. “It is not advisable to curse in court.”

“Sorry…” Luke murmured, strangely grateful and comforted for this contact with someone after standing in silence for so long.

“Only speak when spoken, too,” he was advised.

Luke nodded, looking behind him. “Of course, thanks.”

The sounds in the room were becoming louder as conversations continued and more people flowed into the court. Greetings to known friends, colleagues and acquaintances could be heard around him and the monotonous noise of people grew louder. It seemed like he was the only one with no-one to talk too, stood alone and isolated from the growing crowd.

_Shouldn’t be here…_

He shuffled his feet again as his discomfort grew, as his back cramped from the stance, as the healing cut on his cheek burned with an itch he was unable to scratch. His back had healed well over the last few weeks, so much so that he had been able to fly and practise with his saber, but he had a feeling that maintaining this position throughout the day was not something his back would be able to do without protesting.

Something flickered and flashed brightly in the corner of his eye and Luke started, turning to see what it was.

His heart sank, his throat tightened as he watched a holo-camera float around him, catching him in its lights. He looked around; saw more floating about the chamber.

This was being broadcast…

_Get out! Now!_

He dropped his head, fighting his conflicting feelings, fighting to steady himself, to remain calm, to get through this day. His heart hammered in his chest stealing his breath, his head filled with the white noise of panic. He swallowed, look a deep breath. His head was light with dizziness and he was he was terrified he was going to pass out.

“I need to speak with Lieutenant Commander Skywalker!”

The familiar and indignant voice cut through the haze of growing consternation that was threatening to pull him down and he turned around, delighted that Leia had arrived. His panic began to subside just by knowing she was in the same room.

“Leia!”

The Princess was standing just behind him, cut off from him by a barrier and by the line of guards behind him. She turned, caught his eye and smiled briefly in reassurance mouthed “Don’t worry,” and turned back to her argument with a court official.

“I was given assurances by the First Minister that I would be able to speak with Luke before the hearing,” she told the small man, unconsciously reaching up to touch the large ornate hairpin that held up her elaborate hair style.

“I am sorry, Your Highness, that is impossible at this time,” he drew himself to his full height, a full inch shorter than Leia. Luke smirked, it was the first time he had seen Leia trying to use her height as an advantage. “The hearing is starting in a just a few minutes, the panel of judges… I mean… the Honorable Members are due in court now and…”

She was looking around the room. “Where is the First Minister? Is he not attending?”

“No, Your Highness, the First Minister has other matters that require his…”

“All rise!”

A voice boomed out over a speaker system and as one the crowd rose to its feet, the holo-cameras stopped buzzing about the room and all turned toward the dais at the front of the room as seven darkly robed men entered the room and walked in line to the seven chairs and sat down.

“This isn’t over,” Leia hissed at the official before she stepped back to her own place.

“Be seated.”

The crowd sat as one, the silence broken only by the sound of shifting fabric and an occasional cough as people settled down into their seat.

Luke was the only one left standing.

The man in the central seat cleared his throat and glanced briefly at Luke before speaking, his voice carrying throughout the chamber, the holo-cameras hovering at strategic places in the room picking up all angles and every sound.

“I am Chairperson Gra’vel, with me are the Minister for trade and Industry, Harten, and Representatives Ewa’an, Fier, Nukkan, Sleran and Trenja.

This is a Governmental Committee Hearing to investigate the incident that occurred over Cusrean in which twenty thousand four hundred and fifty two civilians died during an attack executed by the organisation known as the Alliance to Restore the Republic. Despite the setting in this court building this is not a trial. We are not here to pronounce sentence or establish innocence; we are here to ascertain the facts about the attack. What lead to the attack? What role did individuals have in the attack and could anything have been done to prevent it?

It is our intention to then consider these facts and the Government is tasked with deciding if we should withdraw our support and supplies to this organisation.”

“Withdraw!” A voice shouted from the public gallery and other angry voices rose with the same shout.

Luke hung his head, closed his eyes as that one shout was taken up by many voices and became a chant.

“Withdraw!”

This was all his fault.

_Shouldn’t be here!_

The chairperson rose, his hands raised to calm the crowd. He remained silent and gradually the chanting waned and died out.

Gra'vel sat back down only when silence had fallen once more.

“We have with us representatives from the Alliance to give evidence; the Princess Leia Organa,” he began, resuming where he had been forced to stop, “and Lieutenant Commander Luke Skywalker.”

“Sentence him!”

“Death!”

“Death!”

Again another chant, voices clamouring for his execution.

“Death.”

Luke lifted his head, ignoring his desire to turn around to Leia. He stared ahead at the Horaarn flag, setting his jaw and paying no attention the holo-camera that hovered nearby, picking up every movement or gesture he made and broadcasting it to the planet, to the solar system, to the whole galaxy.

Gra'vel rose to his feet again, appealing for silence, "My fellow citizens..."

He tried again, "My fellow citizens..."

As silence began to fall, he continued, “My fellow citizens, I ask you to please show due respect for this Hearing or I shall have no choice but to clear the public galleries. It is our intention that all aspects of this Hearing be open to public scrutiny and nothing is to be hidden – the Alliance agreed to these terms, assured us that they have nothing to hide.”

He looked down at Luke. “The Lieutenant Commander graciously laid aside diplomatic status and agreed to place himself in our authority. He is not under arrest by Horaarn law, and thus he is here merely to give evidence with regards to the Alliance attack, not to appeal any guilt or prove his own innocence. Nor are we here to pronounce sentence. I am not a court judge.”

Luke’s back stiffened in surprise, horror rattling through him at the Chairman’s words. What? Appeal guilt? Prove innocence?

What did that mean? Did that mean they thought him guilty of the attack?

_You are guilty…._

“The Lieutenant Commander is standing here, on the Convicted Rostrum, only in respect of our laws, nothing more.”

_Convicted?_

What?

What did that mean?

A murmur rippled through the crowd and Luke didn’t know if this was a good thing, but the tension in the court room seemed to ease and he breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced behind him at Leia, saw her frown, her eyes narrowing at the Chairperson’s words. She glanced at him, caught his eye and nodded, mouthed again, “It’s all right.”

“Do we have a delegate from Cusrean?” Chairperson Gra’vel was looking at a vacant section of the court room where a row of seats behind a table lay completely empty.

Again Luke saw the Princess scowl, but it was fleeting expression, there and then gone, as her face became placid and unconcerned. However, Luke knew that she was ever the consummate politician and that her true feelings were easily hid behind the façade. There had been no mention of a delegation coming from Cusrean, but it made sense to Luke that they would be invited to give their own account of what happened.

He just hoped that the Empire hadn’t been invited.

_Shouldn’t be here!_

There was silence, until one representative leaned forward and whispered to Gra’vel, who nodded and turned back to the body of the court. “The Cusrean delegation will be with us later in the day to present their evidence,” he announced.

There was a pause as the chairperson lifted a datapad and consulted the information that it held. “Very well, we shall call our first witness. Will the Princess Leia Organa please step forward onto the witness stand?”

Luke heard Leia rise, listened to her footsteps pass by him and watched as she stepped up onto a raised platform to his right. He was thankful he could see her now, felt more at ease with her presence as she smooth back her dress and sat down on the chair provided. A glass of water was placed onto a small table at her side.

_Need to get away._

He swallowed, nervously licked his lips, and shuffled his stance as Leia addressed the committee panel members.

“Honourable members,” her voice was strong, firm with no room to doubt her conviction. “Lieutenant Commander Skywalker and I would like to thank you for your hospitality and thank you for this opportunity to present our testimony to the committee, to the peoples of Horaarn and Cusrean and to the Galaxy.”

A few on the dais bowed their heads in acknowledgement.

“However, there are some… aspects to this hearing about which I have to lodge formal protests. I had hoped that we could deal with these issues before we proceed any further.”

The Chairperson conferred with rest of the panel, heated whispers reached Luke but he couldn’t make out what was being said. Then a few nods and an agreement reached.

Gra’vel nodded at Leia. “Go ahead your Highness… but please be as brief as possible as we have a long day ahead.”

“Thank you, Mr Chairperson,” Leia paused, looking at Luke. “My first issue is with how the Lieutenant Commander is currently being held. He has been found guilty of no crime and yet he has been bound and made to stand for the duration of the day. I respectfully request that his bonds be released and that he be allowed to sit at the delegate table along with myself.”

Luke suppressed his smile, his relief that Leia was fighting his corner.

Again there was a discussion, quick angry whispers, some of the panel nodding, some vigorously shaking their heads.

“His bonds may be released,” Gra’vel conceded, “but he will remain where he is, in respect for our laws as he agreed.”

Leia tried again as Luke’s guards move forward and unbuckled the belt and released Luke’s wrists and ankles. Even this small concession on the Horaarn’s part was welcome. “I thank the committee, however the Lieutenant Commander suffered a back injury several months ago, and it is unlikely that he will be physically able to remain standing for the duration of the hearing. I am sure the panel members would not be willing to have a guest collapse during his testimony.”

More concessions on the part of the Horaarns. “Very well, have a chair brought forward. However, Skywalker will remain where he is on the convicted rostrum.”

_Convicted?_

Why did he keep saying that?

“Thank you, Chairperson, you are most gracious,” Leia acknowledged, with a nod of her head.

Luke stole a glance of gratitude at the Princess as he rubbed at the abraded skin of his wrists and sat down on the chair that had been placed behind him. He was grateful to be sitting, relieved that the Horaarns had conceded these points to the Alliance.

But….

_Need to move…. Need to leave… now!_

… it didn’t relieve the urge that he shouldn’t be here, that he needed to grab Leia and just walk out.

Just leave, return to Han and get away from this place before…

…before what?

Before something happened, before this feeling grew, before whatever was going to happen actually did happened.

He rubbed at his eyes, noticed his hands were shaking and pressed them to his knees, hoping that no-one noticed how nervous and agitated he was.

Leia waited until Luke was settled to speak again. “My second point is the public broadcast of…

ooOOoo

… this hearing. I am here to give evidence about an attack against an Imperial Space station by the Alliance, evidence that may contain information that is classified and cannot be in the public domain lest it endangers Alliance personnel and military operations. I was not asked about this, nor was I told by Horaarn officials that this would be happening.”

Han leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands at he watched the hologram of Leia speak on the holonet. “You tell ‘em, sweetheart.”

He hated this. Hated being stuck on his ship twiddling his thumbs while Leia and Luke were to be put through the wringer. The few times the cameras had focused on Luke he had seemed agitated and nervous…

_Well, who wouldn’t be. No surprise there, Solo._

… shuffling his position every few moments, looking at the ceiling or the floor, looking every bit like a tree-myre caught in headlights. The kid was definitely out of his depth. This was Leia’s forum. It was no place for a kid not long dragged off the farm, who’d had enough trauma to deal with over the last few months.

“The people of Horaarn value openness and honesty, Your Highness,” the chairperson returned.

“As does the Alliance, Chairperson Gra’vel,” Leia agreed. “However, we are at war and in war one does not needlessly share intelligence with the enemy. Neither myself, nor Luke, will answer questions that may place our operations in danger.”

Han noticed her looking at Luke, her gaze firm and pointed, giving an order to the kid in front of the entire Galaxy. He saw Luke nod in acknowledgment, but Han thought it was a moot order; no way would the kid have answered anything to place the Alliance in danger.

More conferring among the committee members and then. “Agreed, Your Highness and we will endeavour not to ask any. Perhaps a ten minute delay in broadcast will give time to edit out anything that may slip passed us?”

Leia nodded. “That is most gracious of you, Chairperson Gra’vel.”

“What’s happening?” Haslam asked, joining Han in the passenger lounge and throwing himself on the couch behind the dejarik board. He was as bored and as uptight with Han, worried about his sergeant.

“Hearing’s just started,” Han told him. “Any more from Thecla?”

“She’s complaining of the stench and the cold, but she’s making her way. It might take a few hours though.”

Han nodded, half listening to the soldier, half listening to the holonet as Leia’s protests ended and the questioning began.

“Chewie?” he asked.

“Gone aft,” Haslam jerked a thumb behind him. “I think he wanted to check out the rear shields in case we need to bug out quickly.”

Han glanced around, looking at the big soldier in a new light. “You understand Shyriiwook?”

Haslam nodded. “Yeah, a little. My folks traded with the Wookiee’s just before the Empire. I’m a little rusty, but I understand most of what he says.”

The hologram of the hearing stuttered and stopped and both men looked up at the paused image. Leia sat with her mouth open in the middle of saying something and a voice over stated. “Please wait for the broadcast to begin again.”

“This’ll be the ten minutes grace they’re giving, Leia,” Han explained to the soldier. “So they can edit out any sensitive information.”

Haslam nodded. “So, you’re on first name terms with the Princess?” There was a grin in the soldier’s terms.

“Only when she’s not here,” Han told him quickly, lying.

“Word is she and Skywalker are close.”

Han considered the stir of jealousy that spiked, the Princess and the kid were close… but not that close.

What was he had said only a few days ago, testing Leia, gauging her feelings for their mutual friend... “He’s like a brother to me, too.”

Leia hadn’t replied, she had merely smiled. There had never truly been a hint of anything between the two apart from friendship since Yavin. Back then the kid had obviously been infatuated with her and Han had gone to great lengths to tease him about it, egged him on to do something about his feelings.

But the kid never had… not with Leia anyway.

“They’re close,” he told the soldier wanting to end the conversation. “Just not in the way you think.” He hauled himself from couch. “I’m gonna check on, Chewie, holler when the broadcast starts again.”

ooOOoo

Rhovan was bundled out of the troop transporter into a snow covered courtyard surrounded on three sides by a tall, forbidding building. On the forth side was the huge gateway the carrier had passed through.

He instantly recognised a prison. The phalanx of soldiers immediately closed around him, giving him no choice but to be herded the way they wanted.

Is this where they had Skywalker?

“Sergeant,” he called to the lead trooper. “Why am I here?”

He knew the answer before the Sergeant gave it.

 

“This is where Lord Vader ordered you be brought, Major.”

So he was still “Major,” still not in cuffs, but somehow these facts didn’t ease his tension. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wincing at the spike of pain that his movement caused his injury.

“For what purpose?” he demanded.

_If someone had snatched your son from you, how would you react?_

“I’m sorry, sir, Lord Vader does not always explain his orders to me. I just carry them out.”

Still being addressed as “sir,” but a trooper would never dare be sarcastic toward a high ranking officer, but these were Vader’s men, the five hundred and first and fiercely loyal to the Dark Lord.

There was no doubt about it, his mission for Mon Mothma had failed. He had run from the Alliance with only one thought in his head, to keep Luke Skywalker away from his father, he had neither thought through his course of action, nor had he seriously considered that they would refuse to recognise his authorisation code.

This was nothing to do with his position in either the Alliance or the Empire.

This was personal.

A door swept open as they approached the building and Rhovan found himself being walked down a long, bright corridor toward a bank of turbo lifts. Curious Horaarn prison guards watched their progress from their posts with a mixture of fear and interest on their faces. He was not processed as other prisoners would be; he was not welcomed, showered and given a medical.

All that was by passed, just as he would have done; after all his welfare was not their primary consideration.

They stepped into the first turbolift and it fell at stomach dropping speed, slowing only as it reached its floor. He stepped out into a chillingly familiar set up.

A central command desk with monitoring systems, three hexagon-shaped tunnel-like corridors branched off from the main atrium and black garbed Imperial prison guards stood, or sat, at their posts.

Imperial, not Horaarn.

For only the second time in his life Rhovan hesitated on entering a maximum security holding facility.

“Major Rhovan,” a helmeted guard stepped forward, a lieutenant by his insignia. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

Rhovan heaved in a breath, fought to swallow his nervousness and nodded. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

The stormtroopers held back as the guards took their places and chaperoned Rhovan down one of the corridors. They stopped by a cell door pausing only for the young lieutenant to activate the lock release and the door swept upward.

“After you, sir,” he stepped to the side allowing Rhovan to step down first into the cell.

The first thing he saw in the interrogation cell was a solitary hard backed chair sitting alone in the centre of the floor. A single bottle of water rested on it. It threw him back to those long days from weeks ago when Skywalker had been brought through a similar door and into a similar room to find Rhovan waiting on him

And he supposed that must have been the point.

The door dropped at his back, shutting him and two of the guards in the room. He tore his eyes from the chair, and to the man standing behind it.

“Major Rhovan,” the stranger welcomed, brightly. “I am honoured to meet you!”

“Captain,” Rhovan greeted, noting the man’s rank insignia, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

The man’s thin lips spread into a smile. “Yes, I do, don’t I?” He sounded sly and he reminded Rhovan of Major Aryn from Escaal; a thin weasel of a man who seemed to delight in the pain of others. “I am Captain Velaptor, an interrogation specialist like yourself.”

“I had noticed,” Rhovan’s replied, dryly, wishing the man would just cut to the chase and get on with it.

A smirk. “Of course you have.” Velaptor lifted the bottle of water from the chair and stepped around it. He sat down, appraising the man standing before him. After a few moments of silence he said. “You are injured, Major.”

Rhovan’s hand went to his chin where Skywalker’s punch had landed; his nose ached from Solo’s blow. He forced himself to smile, no matter how much it hurt his face. “I find that our occupation is not always understood.”

The Captain laughed. “Indeed!” Another few moments of awkward silence as each weighed up the other.

“I have studied your methods extensively, Major.” Velaptor told him, his words scored with genuine admiration. “You are known to be quite… brutal.”

“Only when I have to be,” Rhovan stated, hoping that the warning he wished convey was understood.

Another smile, the warning recognised and dismissed. “I could not help but notice that some of your key prisoners died quite early on in their interrogations.”

“It can happen,” Rhovan dismissed.

“Yes. Yes, it can,” Velaptor agreed with a nod. “But for you, it became almost a common occurrence. On Escaal, on Cusrean and Hasthaal… ah… Hasthaal. That’s where it started wasn’t it?”

“Where what started?”

“Where you deliberately killed your first prisoner of course,” the Captain threw at him. “I did explain I had read about your methods, but I also studied you, Major. It struck me that perhaps you had him killed to protect the information he had on your resistance operations.”

Rhovan’s mouth was suddenly dry as he belated realised what was happening here, and how foolishly he had allowed himself to be tricked. He was already being interrogated.

“Ten years ago, surely you remember?”

Rhovan bit down on his answer, refused to be baited, refused to acknowledge what the Captain was saying. He had put this behind him, had thrown himself in to his work and into the resistance networks he had helped build on these worlds. He swallowed with growing consternation, recognising he had very little control here.

It was an unpleasant acknowledgment and he knew that those who had been brought before him probably had had their own moments of clarity, an understanding on how much their welfare was solely in the hands of another and there was nothing they could do about it.

“A young rebel,” Velaptor continued. “A resistance fighter was captured on Hasthaal and brought to you. I read he put up quite a fight. I also read that you were granted discretion not to be involved in his interrogation and yet you requested to stay. I believe your commanding officer was very impressed with your commitment to your duty and to your Empire. He commented that you put personal feelings aside and served your Emperor with vigour.”

“I am the Emperor’s willing, Servant,” Rhovan conceded, knowing it would do him no good.

“Hmmm,” The interrogator mused. “I wonder if your brother felt the same way when you beat him, when you used the droid on him, when you wrung the screams from him.”

A pulse beat in Rhovan’s neck. The only outward sign of his inner struggle.

Sam had known what he was getting into, had known the consequences if he was captured and yet he had still agreed to smuggle the weapons through the check point. He had also asked…

No, Sam demanded…

….that should he be taken that Erwin be there for him, be with him. To do the deed himself if he could, because only then would Sam be strong enough to resist the pain and the questions.

_He leaned into the prisoner, grabbed his dark hair and pulled his head up. He barely recognised Sam; features battered into a mass of swollen, bruised and bleeding flesh, blood dribbling from his mouth, from his nose, dripping darkly onto the floor._

_“I told you, brother,” he sneered the word, putting as much hate and venom into it as he could. He was too aware of the monitors, of the scrutiny he was under. “I warned you I would not hold back.”_

_Sam spat, clearing his mouth of blood. “I…. ne…ver… thought you…. would…” He gasped and sucked, spat again, this time at Rhovan. The blood filled spittle landing on his elder brother’s face._

_Rhovan stepped back, wiped his face and swung hard, back handing Sam’s face. Then he quickly grabbed Sam’s hair again, brought his mouth to his brother’s ear and whispered desperately. “Sam… no more… Don’t make me do this… give me something, something small… damage control.”_

_“Just… do it… Erwin…”_

“Your brother was all of…” Velaptor made a play of remembering. “… nineteen years, was he not?”

Rhovan said nothing, refusing to be goaded.

“I wonder, Major….” The Captain relaxed back into the chair watching him closely. “Did Skywalker remind you of your brother?”

He hadn’t. Skywalker was nothing like Sam. Memories of his brother had never risen to plague him during an interrogation, not even when the subject was his brother’s age, or younger. He let the Captain have that one, though; let him think he had made a score. It would help lull him into a false sense of security and would allow Rhovan one thing on which to focus during his own interrogation.

He only prayed that he could be as strong as Sam, as courageous and he wasn’t sure if it was a blessing, or a curse, that he knew intimately what he was about to face.

Without an answer Velaptor grinned again, aware that Rhovan had finally caught up with what was happening. He nodded to the guards and a durasteel line dropped from the ceiling, a panel slid open in the back wall and a small, black, spherical droid floated out of its storage space.

There was a rattle of cuffs from behind as the guards moved in.

“Major Rhovan,” Velaptor said pleasantly. “I believe we all know the process here, we all know what I have to do.”

Rhovan drew in breath, his back straightened and he injected rage into his voice. “I am on a specialised mission. My authorisation code is aurek-aurek-three-three-four-zero-Dorn. I am neither to be delayed nor detained. Check it.”

Velaptor sighed, shook his head, feigning sorrow. “I’m afraid Lord Vader has countermanded your orders. He was quite specific with his own instructions, so you will forgive me, Major, if I now follow his mandate.”

“You’ll regret this,” he warned, tightly.

Velaptor stretched his legs, crossed his ankles, hands on his lap, relaxed. “No, Major Rhovan, I won’t. I think I’ll actually enjoy this.”

Rhovan glanced at the line, at the waiting droid, felt the impatience of the guards behind him, knowing what was coming next.

“Please, Major, remove your uniform.”

ooOOoo

_Shouldn’t still be here._

Luke’s senses were screaming at him to get up, to move, to run. With each passing moment the feelings heightened, strengthened.

He had to get up, get out.

Panic beat in his chest, clogged his throat. He felt lightheaded, sick.

But still he sat, listening as Leia was grilled by the committee, as question after question was put to her and she answered, head straight, voice strong and resolute. She disputed points, explained their data and where it came from, refused point blank to reveal source locations and debated details.

“No, no,” Leia was shaking her head, face grim, her tone one of polite indignation. “If you refer again to paragraph one hundred and three of our intelligence report,” she paused allowing the panel members time to scrawl through their datapads, again she played with her hairpin. “You will note that the information gained by our intelligence network clearly demonstrated a clear and present danger to the security and the well-being of billions of beings in the galaxy. Furthermore, this was corroborated by…”

A holo-camera hovered close by and Luke flinched at the sound of its repulsors, almost yelled aloud as its lights flickered across him. Memories of the droid on Escaal surging to the forefront of his mind and he wondered what he looked like on the holonet screens across the galaxy with his battered face and nervous movements.

Again a hand on his shoulder and whisper from one of his guards. “Sir, are you all right?”

He wanted to say no, he wanted to tell them that he needed to leave, needed to get out of this chamber, out of this situation.

“I… could use some water,” he told them, seeing Leia briefly glance in his direction, concern darkening her eyes. Could she see how he was feeling, could she sense how badly he wanted….

_… needed…_

…. to get out of here.

How long had they been here? How many hours had passed since Leia took the stand? Would they take a break before calling him?

He didn’t know if he could go up there, didn’t know if he could answer any more questions. There had been so many in the last few weeks…

_“With which squadron do you fly?_

_“Why didn’t you eject?”_

_“What evidence do you have to support such drastic and costly action, Lieutenant-Commander?”_

_“When the questioning turned from the Network and to the Alliance, what did you tell them?”_

_“When did you first become aware of Darth Vader’s presence?”_

Why?

Where?

What?

Who?

When?

Questions, demanding answers. Some he had known, some he had not. Some he never wanted to say.

“Sir,” The voice was back and a cool glass of water was being placed into his hand.

He nodded loosely, “thanks,” and, having to use both hands to stop himself shaking and spilling the liquid, he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip.

It was cool, fresh and….

_“Drink. It’s glucose water. You need it.”_

… it stuck in his throat. He gagged, choked, coughed and finally swallowed.

He glanced up, saw Leia watching silently watching him, became aware of more stares; the spectators in the public galleries, the committee members, court officials, the holo-cameras.

His heart hammered in his chest, what had he missed? What had happened?

The Chairperson leaned forward addressing him for the first time. “Lieutenant Commander Skywalker, are you unwell?”

Luke swallowed, cleared his throat. “No, sir,” he lied, surprised at how strong his voice sounded. “I apologise.” Although he wasn’t sure what he was apologising for.

Gra’vel didn’t look convinced, however he turned to Leia. “We thank you for your testimony Your Highness and ask that you remain at the delegate table in case we have need of you to clarify information or to answer additional questions.”

Leia stood, bowed her head respectfully at the panel. “Thank you, Chairperson.”

She stepped down and returned to her place behind Luke.

Gra’vel again checked the datapad in front of him and looked back at Luke. “Lieutenant Commander Skywalker will you please step into the witness box.”

He couldn’t move, his body had locked in place. He felt all eyes on him, felt the expectation in the court room as they waited for him to move.

He was cold. Frozen.

_Shouldn’t be here!_

White noise, high pitched and whining, hissed in his ear.

_Get up!_

He took in a breath, swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his throat worked, and willed himself to stand and place one foot in front of the other. He walked to the witness box, followed by his ever present guards.

Another glass of water was placed beside him as he sat, but he didn’t dare touch it, didn’t want anyone to see how hard his hands were trembling.

This was more terrifying than going into battle.

“Lieutenant Commander,” Gra’vel started as soon as Luke was settled. “How long have you been with the Alliance?”

“Ju…” his throat clogged, the words got stuck and he cleared his throat. “Just over two years, sir.”

“Yes, yes…” The chairman checked his datapad. “The Battle of Yavin was your first sortie, yes?”

Luke glanced at Leia, who shook her head.

“I’m, ah… sorry, sir. I can’t answer that question.” He knew why Leia shook her head; he’d be admitting live on the holonet to his part in the battle, giving the Empire more ammunition to hunt him down. Although, just being part of the Alliance was enough to incriminate him in the eyes of the Empire; he was a rebel, a traitor.

“You are reported as the pilot who destroyed the Empire’s space station as it travelled through the Yavin system, is that not correct.”

Again he glanced to Leia, again she shook her head.

“That’s what was reported, sir,” he confirmed.

Gra’vel smiled at Luke’s evasive answer. “Is that not the truth?”

This time he didn’t need to look at Leia. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t answer that question.”

A holo-camera zoomed in on him, its lights flickering in his eyes. He winced, tried to focus on the committee panel, on the questions they were going to ask.

_Get out!_

“We are not going to get very far, Lieutenant Commander if you cannot answer our questions.”

Luke bit back his initial retort that Gra’vel needed to ask questions that he could answer. “My apologies, Chairperson, I don’t mean to be obstructive.”

Another member of the panel sat forward, his name escaping Luke; all their names escaped Luke. They were strangers wanting to know all about him.

“With which squadron do you fly?”

Luke chilled, his blood running cold in his veins. He had been asked that before.

_Hanging from the line, he tried to lift himself on the cuffs, tried to find some relief for his stretched muscles. He could feel the drug crawling through his veins, could feel his senses react to its guileful ministrations, its insidious influence on his body. He was awake and coherent, as they wanted, but he was also exhausted, suffering from dehydration and starvation, and very weary of the pain, of the questions. He lowered his head, stared at the floor, at the blood and sweat that dripped there. He was aware he was moaning, grunting softly as he breathed, but he was helpless to stop it._

_"Luke?"_

_Rhovan’s voice questioned as he turned away and looked at the other Imperial in the room. "Perhaps," he suggested as the other grinned. "if he is reluctant to tell us of the Resistance he will be more willing to discuss his Rebel Alliance?"_

_A chuckle reached him through the roaring in his ears, through the panic and the pain. This was a joke to them._

_This was fun!_

_"With which squadron do you fly?" Rhovan continued._

 

“I…uh…I,” he licked his lips, looked at the glass of water sitting beside him and then down at his hands. He clasped them together on his lap, nails digging into his palms, knuckles white.

“Lieutenant Commander Skywalker?”

Numb, Luke glanced up at the panel, at the man asking the question.

“Are you all right?”

There was genuine concern in the committee member’s voice and Luke was thankful for it. It brought him away from his memories, took him away from the cell, from the harsh lights, the unyielding binders on his wrists and the droid hovering at his back as it waited to shock him on the orders of a man who was now one of his superiors officers.

Again he cleared his throat. “I’m fine, sir. I… uh… I’m not used to public speaking and I’m a little nervous.”

A murmur rippled through the audience and Luke picked up hints of commiseration and sympathy. It warmed him, soothed him that others could understand, it….

_Shouldn’t be here!_

“I’d say more than a little nervous, Lieutenant Commander,” there was a smile in the Horaarn’s voice.

“Uh, yes, sir.” Luke acknowledged, managing a smile himself.

“Can you answer my question?”

Luke shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I cannot.”

He could feel the exasperation of the committee as they conferred with one another. He risked a glance to Leia and she nodded and smiled at him in encouragement.

“Very well,” it was the chairperson again. “Let us just concentrate on the event itself.” He peered down at Luke, warning. “I am expecting your full co-operation, Lieutenant Commander.”

Luke nodded. “I am willing to give it, sir.”

And so they started.

“Beginning with your briefing, what were you specifically told about your target and the mission objective…”

ooOOoo

The walls of the tunnels were wet, slick with water and growing algae and bitterly cold. Thecla’s footsteps on the walkway above the flowing sewage echoed as she cautiously made her way through the labyrinth guided by the droids over the comlink.

Long ago she had turned up the collar of the old flight suit and buried her mouth and nose into the fabric to stifle the stench of the place – throwing up again was not something she relished; her mouth already burned with the taste of bile and she was growing thirstier by the minute.

She was nearing a bend and she aimed the flashlight to the floor as she moved forward when a sound stopped her. She flicked the light off, stood still and listened.

A murmur of voices from up ahead, a quiet echo of footsteps.

Having already hidden twice from workers, Thecla glanced around in the darkness looking for an alcove, another tunnel into which she could duck to avoid the approaching Horaarn’s.

“Threepio,” she whispered. “More workers…”

“Oh, my!”

Thecla winced, his prissy voice sounding very loud in the tunnels.

“Pipe down, Threepio,” she hissed. “What does Artoo say?”

A muted beep and, “There is a smaller access tunnel on the other side of the main tunnel, about twenty metres behind you.”

Thecla glanced over, but couldn’t see anything in the gloom and she glanced down not wishing to have to immerse herself in the sewage below. “Is there nothing on this side?”

“There doesn’t appear to be, Sergeant.”

“Shit!” She cursed, and grimaced; soon she would be swimming in it.

She could hear the footsteps approaching, the voices getting louder. Pocketing the comlink in one of the shoulder pockets and placing the flashlight grip between her teeth and trying not to breathe through her nose, Thecla lowered herself to the floor, swung her legs out over the edge and slowly eased herself down into the flowing sludge. It stank, and she dry gagged at the feeling of the cool liquid as it encased her legs, reaching her thighs.

She waded as quickly and as quietly as she could to the other side and hauled herself up onto the walkway on the opposite side. Dripping wet she jogged back twenty metres and ducked into the access tunnel as a light swept around the bend.

She moved further back into the shadows as the footsteps became louder and the voices more distinct. They were tinny, familiarly distorted and they chilled her even before the five figures in white armour passed slowly by her hiding place.

She held her breath, her hand going to her holster and pulling her blaster as their footsteps slowed and stopped.

“Don’t know why we just don’t invade rather than all this sneaking around.”

“It’s not up to us to question orders, private.”

“But why this place?”

“So no-one can get near the court either above or below, and…. hang on…. This T-AR-four-nine-eight we have completed the sweep on section four-seven. There’s nothing down here, sir.”

There was a crackle, a burst of static. “…maintain position.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Great,” the first voice moaned. “We’re stuck here.”

Thecla had no sympathy for them. She had been down here for hours now, only to find her way blocked. She glanced up the access tunnel and began to move further into it, slowly and quietly making her way down it away from the patrolling soldiers.

Once around a wide arcing bend she felt safe enough to retrieve her comlink keying it and whispering. “This is a no go, we have troopers in the sewers. I repeat there is an imperial presence.”

“Shit.”

Her heart was still racing, adrenalin pumping at her near miss with the troopers, but she couldn’t help but grin at Haslam’s curse given her legs were caked in the stuff.

“What’s happening,” Solo’s voice broke over the comm.

“We have troopers, sounds like there are more between here and the court house. There’s no way I’m getting past them.”

There was silence for a moment followed by a question. “D’ya need to abort?”

Did she? Did she want to go back? Wait this out safe…

…well, only a little safer if there was an Imp presence in the system…

… on the ship while Luke…

_Luke?_

… the lieutenant Commander and the Princess were alone and vulnerable in what now looked like hostile territory.

She pounced on the first idea that came to her. “That’s a negative, captain. I’m going to try for the Princess’s accommodation see if I can meet up with her and the droids there after the hearing.”

“I hear, ya, Sergeant. Good luck,”

“Thanks, sir, I’m going to need it,” signing off from the Falcon, Thecla re-keyed the comm and contacted the droids. “Change of plans, Threepio,” she said quickly. “I need a route from the access tunnel to the Princess’s apartments – a route that doesn’t go anywhere near the court house. We are crawling with Imps down here.”

“Oh, dear,” the golden droid exclaimed, sounding more alarmed than Thecla herself, and she had to wonder why Skywalker put up with such a neurotic droid.

“Sergeant, Artoo says to keep following the tunnel you are in until you reach a T-section, about two kilometres. Turn left and keep going for a further three kilometres that will bring you close to the guest accommodation. However, there is no access from the sewer into the building. You will have to exit at street level.”

“What security is there?”

“It is somewhat substantial, I’m afraid. It is, after all diplomatic accommodation.”

Thecla winced. “Imperial troopers?”

“No, sergeant, Horaarn security.”

“Okay, have Artoo see if he can help with getting me in and by passing the security systems.”

Shutting off the comlink Thecla continued into the gloom, keeping her flashlight off in case its beam was picked up from other tunnels by the patrolling stormtroopers. This was going to be even trickier than she thought.

ooOOoo

“… came out of the hyperspace jump hot.”

“Hot?” an older man at the end of the panel asked.

“Uh, yes, sir. It means that weapons are on line and armed, so that we’re ready for action.”

“Thank you,” the man waved at him. “Go on…”

Luke leaned forward and lifted his glass, the tremble in his hands not quite so noticeable now that he had been sitting talking for a while, and took a drink wetting his throat. He placed it down and continued surprised at how easy it had been, so far, to distance himself from the actions he was speaking about, how easy it was to gloss over his feelings and not think of the Cusrean station as anything other than the biological weapons research facility they had been briefed about.

“We approached Cusrean at high speed, broke off into our attack groups and headed for our assigned targets. We…”

The chairperson checked his datapad. “Your target was the reactor core?”

“That’s correct, sir, as I stated earlier.”

“Continue.”

“We could see the Command vessel, a Super Star Destroyer but it was outside of attack range at that point. We took the opportunity to release our torpedoes and…”

“Did the station open fire on you?”

Luke bit back his annoyance at the constant interruptions, more annoyed at the memories they invoked than at the people asking the questions. If they could just allow him to speak, to tell the story then he wouldn’t need to dwell on the specifics. “No, sir, it did not.”

“Didn’t you think that was strange?”

Luke shook his head. “No, sir, we caught them by surprise.”

It was true, at that point it hadn’t been strange at all.

“I see…. Continue…”

“Well,” he said, recalling, but trying not to recall. “We released our torpedoes, the station was hit, damaged. It was at that point that the Empire engaged us. An attack wing of TIE fighters and Interceptors attacked and…”

“Defended.”

Luke looked up wondering who had spoken. “What?”

It was the Chair who spoke. “Wouldn’t you say that the Empire took action to defend the station?”

Luke smiled, shrugged. “That would depend on whose side you are on, sir,” he pointed out.

“And the civilians on the station, young man. Whose side do you think they were on?”

The stark reminder was like a blow…

_Shouldn’t be here!_

…and, shaken, Luke couldn’t initially answer. He glanced over at Leia for support, for guidance, but she looked grave, understanding how badly he had handled that question.

“The Princess Leia is not the one on the stand, Lieutenant Commander, please direct your attention to the committee.” Gra’vel voice was low, cautioning him.

“I… I’m sorry, sir. I… of course the Empire was defending the station,” he said hurriedly, trying to repair the damage he had done. He had appeared callous and uncaring, had deliberately ignored the fact of the lost lives so that he wouldn’t need to feel them.

_Get out!_

His senses screamed at him again, a sudden wave of dizziness flushed through him and he put his hands to his forehead.

“I…”

Something was wrong.

Something was so very wrong.

He heaved in a deep breath, fought to focus on the committee members waiting for him to speak as the doors at the back of the court room swung open.

“We… you need to understand, sir, that we didn’t know about the refugees. We had no way of knowing that the station was not a threat.”

“Liar!”

 

ooOOoo

 

To Be Continued.....


	12. Absolute Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke struggles to cope with being questioned by the Committee and an unexpected guests arrives to complicate matters.
> 
> The Alliance debates what to do about it all....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply....

**Absolute**

**Part Four**

 

Worried about the Imperial presence on the planet Solo had returned to the acceleration couch and settled to watch the hearing once more. He had a really bad feeling about this whole set up, because now there was no doubt in his mind. This whole committee hearing scenario was just that – a set up being played out for someone else’s amusement.

The Empire was here for them; for Leia and for Luke.

Han winced, groaned, at Luke’s slip, and watched as the kid struggled to rectify his mistake, but the Corellian knew that the damage was done. Luke had completely over looked the refugees. He knew it hadn’t been deliberate, knew that in Luke’s mind he had just reached that point in his story, that he had wanted to tell his own version of events from beginning to end and in the correct sequence.

Luke just hadn’t been ready to acknowledge what his actions had done, how many innocent people he had unintentionally killed.

“Liar!”

The shout had come from off camera and the picture swung around.

Solo was on his feet in an instance, cold horror flooding through him. His hand automatically touching his side arm although he could do nothing to help his friends from the confines of his ship.

“Get Thecla,” he ordered Haslam who was staring at the holonet player in shock. “Haslam, get Thecla on the comm! Now!”

The big soldier started, “Yes, sir!” and immediately keyed the comlink.

“Chewie!” Han roared, calling his co-pilot. “We have a big problem.”

ooOOoo

And Luke found himself on his feet, the chair behind him falling over to clatter on the floor. His hands fumbled uselessly at his belt searching for his absent lightsaber as Darth Vader strode down through the vast chamber toward the dais and the sitting committee members. Firm hands were placed on his shoulders, the chair righted and he was forcibly pushed back down onto his seat with a warning.

“Sit down and stay down!”

Leia was also standing, leaning on the table before her for support, speaking loudly, but her voice was drowned out in his head by Vader’s wheezing breath.

It was a sound he had wakened to in that cell on Escaal, a sound he had voluntarily walked toward on Ra’imar, a sound that haunted his dreams and visions.

How could he not have felt him?

How could he have missed his presence when he was so close?

_The Force…_

He bowed his head. The Force had tried to warn him, his feelings had been fraught, taut with expectation and he had ignored it, had pushed it away; had known that he couldn’t have done anything else.

The crowd was alive; the roar of surprise, of shock, filled the chamber as Vader reached the empty table set aside for the Cusrean delegation. He stood alone across from Leia and waited silently.

Chairman Gra’vel was on his feet, holding his hands up once more asking for quiet, for calm and very gradually the noise fell away leaving the court room in silence; Vader’s mechanical breathing filling the void.

Gra’vel sat. “Welcome to Horaarn, Lord Vader, I trust your journey was uneventful?”

Vader addressed the Horaarn, although he was looking in Luke’s direction. “My apologies for my late arrival, I was…”

“I must protest, Chairperson Gra’vel,” Leia’s voice shook, from anger, from fear. “We were guaranteed that there would not be an Imperial presence at this hearing.”

It was Vader who turned to her. “I am not here representing the Empire. I am here as the appointed delegate for Cusrean, asked to attend by the Cusrean Council on behalf of its displaced people.”

“Displaced by the Empire,” Leia hissed in disgust.

“I do not believe we are here to debate Imperial policy, your Highness. We are here to discuss the wilful murder of refugees.”

That brought Luke’s head up and he stared in dismay at his enemy.

“That’s ridiculous!” Leia responded indignantly. “The Alliance had no information to suggest the station housed refugees. Our intelligence clearly stated that…”

“I am not talking about the Alliance,” Vader cut in turning his attention back to Luke. “I am talking about Skywalker.”

Luke couldn’t breathe, his lungs had seized. He knew, somehow Vader knew!

“Luke had exactly the same information as the rest of us, Lord Vader,” she drew on his name, scorned it with her tone. “He couldn’t possibly have known.” She looked over at Luke, and he watched her search his face, looking for his innocence and seeing her growing alarm when he didn’t respond, didn’t deny it.

“He knew there was no danger, he knew there was only innocence on board the station,” Vader told her, ruthlessly, “and still he fired upon it.”

There was a pause, a minute flicker of silence, before the Chairperson spoke from the dais. “Lieutenant Commander Skywalker, is this true? Did you know that the station posed no danger before you fired?”

The blood had drained from him, he felt cold, sick and faint. He couldn’t speak, his eyes fixed on Vader…

_“We will speak at length, young one.”_

… he couldn’t tear his attention away and his hand unconsciously moved to his bruised and cut cheek – the result of Rhovan’s retaliation - the same cheek that Vader’s fist had connected with on Escaal after Luke had spat on him.

“Lieutenant Commander Skywalker, please answer the question.”

The barked command broke through and Luke dragged his gaze from Vader and back to Leia. His voice was torn as he spoke, as he ripped away her hope.

“Yes,” he said. There was a roar in the court room, a sudden tumult of screaming voices that drowned out the rest of his words. “I knew.”

ooOOoo

“Shit, Kid…” Han breathed with a sudden understanding of what had been happening with Luke since the attack. It wasn’t just his capture and torture on Escaal, it wasn’t just finding out that it was refugees on the station that was eating Luke up; it was the fact that, somehow…

… _that hokey Force shit?..._

… he had already known. Had known before he had fired his torpedoes. “Shit…”

Why had he fired? If he knew, why go through with it?

Han closed his eyes, remembering Luke’s briefing after the evacuation of Adralii and his reprimand for disobeying an order, remembering the holonews broadcast of the battle; of the ferocious dog fights around the station and the number of Alliance pilots killed. Luke had done it for his friends, to save them; Luke had done it to avoid disobeying yet another order.

He glanced up at Chewbacca who stood just inside the passenger compartment watching the growing fracas on the ‘net. The crowd was furious, had risen and pushed forward shouting and screaming for blood, people were falling, tripping up in the surge. Hundreds of Horaarn soldiers flooded the chamber, standing between Luke and delegates against their own people as the chair person appealed for calm and for the court to be emptied.

Fighting broke out, shots were fired and at last the crowd moved back more out of fear for their own lives than a willingness to clear the chamber.

“We need to get them out of there.”

ooOOoo

Silence finally descended and a cordon of soldiers remained around the delegates as the public areas were cleared of stragglers and as the injured were carried out.

Gra’vel and the panel members looked shaken. Leia was sitting down ashen faced, but stoic. Vader had remained standing throughout, his hand hovering over the hilt of his lightsaber and it was he who broke the cloying quiet.

He looked across at Luke, who sat alone among his guards defeated and lost; his face pale, his head low and eyes cast down.

“Chairperson Gra’vel,” He spoke loudly, his voice carrying and echoing in the vast empty room. The ever present holo-cameras closed in on him. “On behalf of the Cusrean people I hereby demand that this committee be suspended and that the Government of Horaarn give due consideration to the Cusrean petition to have Lieutenant Commander Skywalker extradited into Imperial custody so that he may be returned to Cusrean to answer to the charges of wanton and malicious murder.”

 

ooOOoo

Darth Vader watched as his words had the desired effect. His son’s head snapped back up, his eyes wide with alarm, instinctively rising from his seat again only to be firmly pushed back down to sit by his guards. Luke’s eyes found Leia’s, appealing to the silent Princess whose own head lowered away from Luke’s pleading stare.

Luke would soon find that friends could be fickle: would discover that when you needed them most, they deserted you and betrayed you.

The Chairperson leaned forward, looked at the holocamera that hovered nearby. “Cut the transmission,” he ordered, “nothing else goes out. Make a statement to the people that the hearing has now become a judicial matter and is therefore to be concluded in private. The Committee will make a public statement at a later time about today’s events and what decisions we have taken.”

Gra’vel turned to Luke. “I ask again Lieutenant Commander Skywalker. Were you aware that the occupants of the Cusrean Space Station posed no threat to you or your squad?”

Luke swallowed, nodded, cast his eyes down. “Yes, sir.”

“You admit to firing your weapons in the full knowledge that there was no military presence on board, only innocents, and that they would all perish?”

“Yes, sir.”

What else could he say? Never before had he felt so weighed down by the consequences of his actions.

Gra’vel’s face was pale and grim as he turned from Luke to Vader. “The Lieutenant Commander’s confession notwithstanding, Lord Vader, do you have further evidence to back your claim?”

“I do, Chairperson,” Vader rumbled, his eyes still on his shaken son. It was intoxicating being in the same room as his child and he had to fight the compulsion to call in his troopers and take Luke now, by force. He had to be patient, had to push away his haste and let this process take its course. Then the boy would be his.

Luke could not fight this. He could not escape this.

“However,” he continued, “presenting such evidence here would be prejudicial to any legal hearing the Lieutenant Commander may be subject too.”

“Since when have you cared about the law, Vader?” Leia Organa challenged from beside him. “Since when has due process mattered to you?”

He turned to her, towered above her, recalling the moment he had pulled her against him, when Tarkin had turned the Death Star on Alderaan. “I enforce the law within the Empire, Your Highness, as you are well aware.”

The Princess paled, visible shaken and he was acutely aware that this was the first time that they had been in the same room since the Death Star.

“You are a monster,” she hissed.

“We are not here to discuss me, Princess.” He turned away from her, dismissing her and turning to the watching panel. “I repeat my request, Chairperson. I demand that this hearing be suspended so that the Horaarn Government can give due consideration to the Cusrean petition to have Lieutenant Commander Skywalker extradited into Imperial Custody to answer the charges of murder. Charges he has now confessed to, twice.”

Because what else could the boy say but the truth?

The seven member panel took a few minutes to discuss the events and Vader watched their faces, felt their conflicting emotions. It didn’t matter how they felt, he already knew the outcome, already knew the decision of the Horaarn Government. This had all been for show, all for the public of the Galaxy, all to discredit the Alliance.

All to take possession of his son.

“Very well, Lord Vader.” Gra’vel glanced at Leia and bowed his head. “Your Highness, it is the decision of this Committee Meeting to agree to Lord Vader’s request and suspend this enquiry on the grounds that it may be prejudicial to the Lieutenant Commander’s future legal status.

“The… uh… the request for extradition may be submitted to the Supreme Court of Horaarn who will give it due consideration. In the meantime…”

He paused, his eyes flitting over Luke, to the guards behind him. “Officers, if you will.”

Vader watched as the guards drew Luke to his feet and turned him around. His hands were brought behind his back and cuffed, his legs shackled and both sets of chains affixed to the thick belt that surrounded his waist. As they chained him, one of the officers cautioned, “Luke Skywalker, you are under arrest and summarily convicted of the crime of murder; the number of crimes to be determined at your sentencing hearing which will be held within fifty two hours. At this hearing you will have the opportunity to appeal your innocence. You are hereby stripped of any rights given to you under the Horaarn constitution and you will be securely held until your appearance in court.”

Vader smiled behind the mask. Luke’s feelings were convoluted, a blend of raw terror and tenacious courage, tinged with confusion. He was afraid, so afraid and yet his anger sang in the darkness. It was pure, unadulterated rage. Luke knew he had been cornered, knew that he had been called here under false pretences. He knew that this was all a façade, a game to place him in the position where capitulation was his only choice.

Within fifty-two hours Vader would be leaving Horaarn with his son.

As Luke was pushed toward the door, Vader turned away to leave by the same door by which he had entered.

“Wait!”

It was the Princess again.

The Dark Lord turned back around, watching as the Princess appealed with Skywalker’s escorts.

“Please! May I have a few moments with the Lieutenant Commander?” She was standing at the very edge of her section of the courtroom, leaning over the barrier, pleading. “Luke may not have rights, but perhaps I do?”

The guards hesitated and they glanced at the panel as the members rose to file out of the court room.

Gra’vel studied the Princess as she played nervously with her hair, with the pin that held it in place. He nodded, “Very well. You have five minutes, Your Highness.”

“May we speak in private?”

Vader stepped forward to object, but he stopped as the Princess was told, “No, Your Highness, that is against regulations. No-one may speak with prisoners while unattended.”

And so he stood back as the Princess stepped out of the boxed area and folded her arms around his son.

ooOOoo

“Oh, Luke,” Leia breathed as she wrapped her arms around him, aware that he couldn’t return her embrace.

He leaned down, laid his head on her shoulder. “That could have gone better,” he quipped, trying to be upbeat, trying to be strong for her, but she could feel his body tremble, could hear the fear in his voice and she worried about how he would cope going back to a cell while facing being handed over to Vader. She could hear the Dark Lord’s breathing behind them, could feel his eyes watching them and she was sure that Luke was also acutely aware of his presence.

“Maybe slightly,” she admitted, trying to be strong for him. She played nervously with her hair, pulled at the elaborate hair pin, and felt the small piece of metal come away in her palm.

He pulled away, caught her eye, and voiced his confusion. “I’m convicted?”

“Horaarn criminal law works on the presumption of guilt. You have to appeal for innocence to be proven.” Leia brought her hand down, holding it close to her body.

Luke closed his eyes, briefly, as awful realization sank in. “And I’ve just confessed live on the holonet.” His voice was rough, hoarse with emotion.

“It’ll be all right,” she wanted to reassure him, but at this moment she had no idea how they were going to circumvent this situation, how to fight it. “I’ll arrange counsel; we’ll appeal at the sentencing, fight the extradition.”

“Using what?” Luke wanted to know, not believing her, knowing that he had walked straight into the trap that had been laid for him. “I knew what I was doing, Leia. You heard what was said, what I said.”

“Did you know it was refugees?”

He shook his head. “No, of course not.”

“You see? You didn’t know!”

“Not the specifics. But I knew people were on board, I felt them. I felt no danger, I only felt…” he swallowed, agitated and remorseful, “…their innocence and I still fired on them.”

“Did you warn, Narra?” she asked tucking a strand of hair back into place and making sure her hair pin was still in place.

“I tried, but…” he trailed off remembering his Commander’s reaction. Remembered being reminded it was an order, remembered the deaths of the pilots around him, remembered Narra ordering Wedge to take out the station. If he had stepped aside, if he had let Wedge take his shot then it would be Antilles standing here and he couldn’t have done that to anyone else, couldn’t have allowed Wedge to live with the knowledge that he had killed those people.

It would have destroyed his friend, as it was destroying him.

“Then we use Escaal, argue diminished responsibility due to post traumatic stress…”

“No!” His voice was sharp, horrified. “No, we don’t. Leia… I don’t want to go there.”

“Do you want to go with Vader?” Her tone was more biting than she had intended and Luke glanced up in horror at the man who stood only a few metres away.

“No, of course not,” his voice was raised; his anger and distress beginning to manifest themselves. “Leia, I…”

“That’s enough! Time to go.”

Luke looked over his shoulder at the waiting Horaarns, nodded in resignation and looked back at Leia. “Tell Han I…”

Leia threw her arms around him again, encircling his waist, her fingers pressing the tiny metallic object into his palm. “Take it!” she whispered, urgently, into his ear as his fingers curled around hers, around the item she gave him. “We’ll get you out. Remember Five-nine-four-four- two-three-eight. Thecla’s out and the Falcon’s sitting ready.”

Luke swallowed, nervously licked his lips as he clasped the cool metal in his hand, aware of the eyes on them, hoping they hadn’t been seen. He was encouraged by her words but dampened down on his optimism, the hope that flared at the thought of escape.

“Han’s plan?” he asked. It was meant to have been a joke, but his voice was hoarse with consternation.

“Han’s plan,” she confirmed with a smile.

“That explains the lack of detail,” he joked with a half-grin, too aware of the guards closing in as they lost patience… and then their hands took his arms and he was being dragged away from Leia, stumbling over the fetters on his ankles.

He glanced again at Vader as he was pulled backward and his face paled, his eyes widening as though he had just realised something.

“Leia!” he called desperately, tugging against the Horaarns, beginning to fight against them. “Leia! Tell Han… ahh…” he wrenched from them, trying to get back to her and she was aware of Vader beginning to stride forward.

He tripped over his shackles, fell, and they caught him, manhandled him back toward the door as he struggled against them. Fighting to be heard over their commands to calm down, to go with them, to make it easier on himself, he told her, “Tell Han, shields up and punch it!”

And then he was gone and the door was shut and Vader was behind her.

Leia stood for a moment, composing herself, fighting against the anxiety that Luke’s warning had instilled in her: fighting against the nearness of the Dark Lord and the revulsion she felt for him.

She was aware that Gra’vel and the committee members had vacated the hall and only she and Vader remained in the vast chamber alone. Lifting her head high, refusing to give him any satisfaction she turned around on her heel and strode passed him without a word or a glance.

ooOOoo

Luke was wrestled to the floor of the corridor, more guards running as he was subdued, a knee in the small of his back holding him down. Their voices warned that fighting against them was futile, that he needed to stop resisting before he got hurt.

“I’m not fighting you,” he spat out onto the floor, lying still for them. “I just needed to speak with Leia.” He sucked in a breath. He still needed to speak to Leia, he needed to tell her what he felt from Vader, needed to tell her how much trouble she and Han were facing when they tried to leave Horaarn.

He had felt it. He had felt Vader’s intentions.

“What’s going on here?” a sharp voice called and the boots around him moved and he was hauled to his feet.

“The convicted was resisting, sir,” one of the guards told his superior as a large, bull of a man approached them. Luke was dismayed that the voice belonged to the one man who had looked after him in the hearing, the one who gave him water and who had spoken kindly. It was clear that his status had changed.

“I was not resisting,” Luke insisted, tightly.

The larger man’s eyes narrowed as he looked down upon him. “The convicted does not speak unless directed to!” he was warned.

Luke’s fist closed around the small object Leia had given him, feeling demeaned and humiliated. He was no longer Luke Skywalker, or Lieutenant Commander, he was “The Convicted” and he was less than they were.

The man towered over him, leaned into him. “Resistance will only make this worse, Convicted.”

Luke could help himself, couldn’t bite back his reply. “You haven’t seen me resist yet.”

Luke saw a flash of an arm coming toward him, had barely any time to brace himself for the blow landing, before something pushed him backward taking his guards with him and the Horaarn who was about strike him was propelled at speed to tumble along the corridor.

Leaning against the wall, Luke thought at first that he had unconsciously used the Force as he had on Escaal, but the slow, regulated breathing of Darth Vader put that thought to rest as did his statement of “Skywalker is not to be harmed.”

Vader had stopped the man.

Pushing himself from the wall, throwing off the grips of his guards, Luke stood tall facing down his enemy. At least this time he wasn’t hanging helpless from a durasteel line and beaten half to death. This time he could stand on his own two feet.

“And how long do think you will sustain that once back in my custody?” Vader wanted to know with, Luke thought, a hint of humour in his tones.

Luke hesitated at this, recalling Vader’s ability to know his thoughts on Escaal, faltered at the hidden threat in the Dark Lord’s words, but he lifted his chin, pushed back his fear. “For longer than you think, Vader.”

Vader smiled beneath his mask. His son was in an impossible situation and knew his fate was sealed and still he did not give up. It was that same tenacity and dogged determination that had kept him from breaking on Escaal.

“Then I look forward to our conversation,” Vader told him, watching as the young man paled at the reminder of his words uttered on Escaal.

_“I shall break him myself.”_

_“We will speak at length, young one.”_

Luke swallowed, gathered his anger and disgust. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“You have healed well since Escaal,” Vader noted, ignoring Luke’s words, but seeing his strength of conviction. “Once you are back in my custody it will be up to you whether or not you are returned to that state.”

Luke chilled at the threat, his legs almost buckled beneath him as he instinctively drew back from Vader. He couldn’t go back to that, couldn’t face another cell, another durasteel line, another droid, more questions. He’d rather die than be reduced to pleading to his father’s killer not to hurt him, would rather die than betray the Alliance.

He knew he would. He knew that if he was to go back to that situation, that dark cell, that pain and pressure, he would break. He would give Vader exactly what he wanted.

But he didn’t want Vader knowing that. “I don’t intend being in your custody.”

Vader smiled at his audacity, at Luke’s failure to recognise how hopeless his situation was. “It is inevitable.”

“You don’t scare me,” Luke countered, his voice tight with anger, with loathing, unable to think of anything else to say.

And Vader knew that was the truth. The boy did not fear him, but he did fear what he could do to him.

No, Luke didn’t fear him.

Luke hated him.

There was movement down the hallway, a flurry of activity and a voice suddenly calling out.

“My… My Lord Vader!”

Pushing down his impatience and dragging his attention from his son, Vader turned at the call. First Minister Teraten was quickly walking down the corridor towards them, pausing briefly to skirt around the fallen man who was being helped to his feet by his colleagues. The First Minister threw Luke a brief, hostile, look before turning his attention to the Dark Lord.

“My Lord,” he stated, looking flustered and unnerved. “We have rioting in the streets near the Princess Organa’s apartment and a large crowd has congregated outside of this building. My security advisors have stated that it would be unwise to take the convicted out of the court house at this time.”

Vader considered this, his helmet turning to regard Luke for moment as the youth shuffled his feet and looked away. There was something about his movements, something that didn’t quite fit the moment. Something suspicious, something about what he had said only a few moments ago.

“My Lord?” Teraten tried again.

“I will release a detachment of my troops into your control, First Minister, to assist in restoring order in the streets,” Vader offered, seeing Luke take an interest in this statement, feeling a spike of anxiety from the boy’s direction. Why should Luke care about troopers on the streets of the city?

Luke dropped his head, looking at the floor as Vader turned. If he had understood Leia’s words then Thecla was out in the city, having troopers patrolling the streets could put the sergeant in danger, could put an end to any escape before he had even attempted it.

Vader had to be sure his son was protected; the upset and violence that Luke’s admission had caused on Horaarn left Luke vulnerable. “Clear the plaza outside of this building and I shall bring in my shuttle so that Skywalker may be transported safely.”

Luke glanced up at that, eyes wide in dismay. He would have no chance of escape from a shuttle.

“An excellent idea, My Lord,” Teraten bowed, “We thank you for your gracious assistance.”

“You may also house him in our facility,” Vader stated, turning away, effectively dismissing the First Minister.

However, Teraten was no so easily discharged. “Ah, My Lord Vader,” he pressed, voice smooth and immutable; a true politician. “As much as I respect what you are trying to do for us, I do have to remind you that the convicted is not yet in your custody. It may not be prudent at this time for him to be held in the Empire’s keeping. The… ah… public wouldn’t like it. Justice has to be seen to be done. Protocols followed.”

Anger stirred as Vader turned around. Unused to not getting his own way, he wanted to throttle this man. However, he had to move delicately and not give them reason to renege on their agreement to grant his petition for Skywalker’s extradition. The Horaarn mandatory sentence for murder was death and the manner of execution was painful and barbaric, something that even the Empire would baulk at. He had no wish to bring his forces down upon the planet in a full scale invasion as that would give the wrong impression to the Galaxy and send supporters scurrying back to the Rebellion.

No, Horaarn’s inclusion to the Empire would be calmer, discrete and at the request of its Government. However, if they dared harm his son he would have no qualms in occupying and subjugating these peoples.

“Very well, I withdraw the offer. I trust Skywalker will be well treated.”

Teraten had the good grace to look offended. “Of course, my Lord,” he bowed slightly to the Dark Lord and gestured to the guards to remove Luke. “Take the convicted down to the holding cells for now; we will alert you when the shuttle arrives.”

Luke tightened his fists behind his back, holding firmly onto the small device in his palm as his arms were taken once more by the guards. He had planned to use the device in the speeder; discreetly unlatching his cuffs with the breaker Leia had given him and taking them by surprise. He had known it would be difficult, a last ditch attempt to escape and flee into the city. Now he wasn’t sure what he going to do or when a chance would present itself.

With a last look at Vader he allowed the Horaarns to turn and walk him away.

“Wait,” Vader stated, softly.

Luke’s heart hammered and cool dread settled into his stomach.

“Have you searched him?”

One of the guards responded. “The convicted has never left our sight, Lord Vader.”

The look on his son’s face told him everything he needed to know, the sheer strength of his disbelief and consternation only confirmed this. “I believe the Princess Leia may have passed him something.”

_Shit!_

Luke was turned again, made to face the wall and his body patted down, his pockets and the hems of his clothes searched.

“His hands,” Vader stated from behind him.

“Open your hands,” he was told.

Closing his eyes and sighing softly in defeat Luke obeyed, allowing the lock-breaker to roll and fall from his palm, it rattled on the floor as it hit.

So much for that idea.

“Take him away,” Teraten ordered, his voice tight and angry. “I shall speak with the Princess about this.”

Luke could feel the Dark Lord’s satisfaction as he was dragged from the wall and pushed down the corridor towards the bank of turbo lifts.

Vader watched his son leave, the boy’s steps awkward in the shackles, heels dragging, and then he glanced down at the lock-breaker lying on the floor. He held his hand out and the device flew into his palm. He turned it in his gloved hand and as he did so a thought occurred to him.

How was Luke to make contact with the Princess and the smuggler once free? How was he to meet up with them and be rescued? How, with the communication monitoring across the planet, was Luke going to speak with them without being detected?

“First Minister, did the Rebels bring any droids?”

Teraten looked surprised. “Yes, Lord Vader, two. A protocol droid and an…”

“… astro droid.”

“Why, yes.”

Artoo!

Of course, it would be Artoo Detoo.

“First Minister, I believe you have a security breach and you will find it in Leia Organa’s suite.”

ooOOoo

The pain blasted against his spine, arced along his nerve endings, exploding in his head. His muscles stiffened with the charge forcing the air from his lungs, driving it from his body.

Rhovan screamed as they all did.

There were many who were brought to him who thought they were brave, who thought they could withstand the agony of the droid, who believed that they could hold back their cries of pain. Velaptor had considered that Rhovan would be one of them and he was quietly impressed that the Major displayed no such bravado.

But then, the man was experienced in wringing the screams from others and must therefore understand that no such will power existed. Pain hurt and beings instinctively screamed.

The Captain walked around the suspended man noting the scarring on his back, the knitted muscle and skin of an old thigh wound. The first the result of a blaster bolt between the shoulders during an uprising on Jabiim, the second due to an improvised explosive device on Hasthaal soon after his brother’s death.

Why Rhovan now chose to associate with the Rebels, with the same type of people who had caused him pain, was beyond Velaptor. He had known no such pain himself, had experienced little in the way of the war and he hated the Rebels, hated what they stood far, hated that they caused chaos in an Empire that was offering only security and structure.

He smiled as Rhovan gasped and groaned and shuddered on the line. “Tell me, Major,” he spoke softly, his voice carrying a hint of his amusement. “What was it that attracted you to the Rebels? What was it that caused you to give up your devotion to the Emperor and become his enemy?”

Velaptor smiled at the silence that followed his question. Rhovan was stubborn, he would scream, but he answered no questions.

No matter. He would talk eventually. They all talked and Rhovan knew that, too.

ooOOoo

Thecla grabbed the top rung of the ladder and stuck her head up through the manhole cover that Artoo had opened for her. Night had fallen, it was still snowing but the alleyway looked clear. The non-com pulled her body up and out of the sewers, hoping she wouldn’t have to go back down to get back to the ship. Quickly she shrugged off the flight suit and hid it under a snow drift, piling more and more on top of it to hide the brilliant orange.

“Okay, Artoo, I’m out. Snow cover remains good, but I’m covered in shit and it’s freezing… I’m wet and I stink. Where do I go from here?”

There was a muted whistle and Threepio translated.

“Artoo states that you need to turn left at the top of the alley way and cross the intersection opposite the…”

“Wait, wait,” Thecla glanced to her left and right trying to work out which opening to the alley way the droids considered the top. “Which way is ‘top.’”?

Another whistle and Thecla had to smile at how exasperated the little machine sounded. “Sergeant, Artoo states that the top of the alley has a rather large neon sign advertising a local drinking establishment.”

“You mean a bar, Threepio?” Thecla laughed, amazed that the droid seemed to use so many words when only a one or two would suffice.

“I believe that is what I said, sergeant,” Threepio responded, sounding perplexed as Artoo twittered in the background.

Thecla looked up and squinted through the snow, spotting muted lights through the blizzard, amazed that the bar would be open for business in such a storm. “I see it, Threepio.”

She walked forward, shoulders hunched down in the storm, heading toward the lights, wondering if she should chance entering and trying to warm up and dry off, but knowing that she probably wouldn’t get past any security they may have on the door to keep undesirables out. She was filthy and stank like the backside of a bantha.

The comlink suddenly buzzed in her hands and she switched channels. “Solo?”

“It’s all changed, Sarg,” Solo sounded wired, tense. “Vader’s here.”

Thecla’s stomach dropped, recalling the blood-red lightsaber spinning toward her on the rain swept roadway on Ra’imar as she and Haslam helped Skywalker into his fighter. Her hand went to her abdomen, pressed against the scar that she had been left with despite the batca treatments. “He’s here?” she echoed, dismayed.

“He appeared at the court,” Solo told her as shouting and angry voices rose from the street ahead of her. She glanced up, saw people running in the snow. Lots of people all heading in the direction she needed to go.

“It’s a mess,” Solo added. “The kid confessed that he knew the station wasn’t a threat.”

“What?” Thecla hissed into the comm, recalling Luke’s admission to her back on Adralii when she had found him practicing with his lightsaber in the darkened ash filled hollow. He had seemed to want the guilt, had found it difficult to stomach what he had done and had been struggling badly. And she had told him her story of the grenade and the civilians in the shop that she had killed. They had shared common feelings, a common guilt, and he had seemed more settled and at peace when they had walked back the compound together.

Why had he felt the need to confess at the committee hearing?

“Why would he do that?”

“Vader’s the Cusrean’s delegate, he got Luke to admit what happened and demanded the kid’s extradition. Luke’s been arrested and convicted.”

“What do you want me to do?” she found herself asking, her mind firmly on the fact that the Dark Lord of the Sith had arrived to complicate matters.

“I haven’t heard from Leia yet, but she’s planning on passing Luke a cuff-breaker,” Han explained, “and telling him the comm channel the droids are using. We’re hoping the kid’ll be able to use them.”

More shouting from the street. “I’m not going to get near the Princess with this crowd and security, I stink like the sewer. What do you want me to do?”

“Find somewhere warm and lay low,” Han advised. “We’ll let you know if the kid makes it. We need you to meet up with him and bring him to the Falcon.”

Thecla smiled, shivered in the cold. “You make it sound so easy!”

“Piece of cake!”

Thecla froze and pulled further into the ally as more figures moved through the snow. “Solo…. We have stormtroopers in the streets.”

ooOOoo

“…. has been arrested and convicted of murder. The Judiciary office announced tonight that the decision on Lord Vader’s petition for Skywalker’s extradition will be given in court at the sentencing hearing which is scheduled to be held within the next fifty two hours. Although legal proceedings are normally private, a late vote within parliament has passed a mandate that will allow holocameras inside the court to ensure that the people know the truth of Cusrean despite the suspension of the Enquiry Committee.

“Meanwhile Lord Vader has graciously ordered his troops to assist the Horaarn Security Forces in keeping order in the streets as thousands of protestors, many of them resettled Cusreans, march on the Princess Organa’s apartments and on the court house. There has been rioting in…”

Rieekan reached over and shut down the holonet player and silence fell over Mon Mothma’s office. Ehlen Anders face was grim. Captain S’adaan fell back into his chair, his large black eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. From outside the prefabricated building they could hear shouts and running feet as word spread through the base about the day’s events from Horaarn.

Mothma pinched the bridge of nose trying to ward off her impending headache. “This is a disaster,” she murmured to no-one in particular.

“We can write off Horaarn support after this,” S’adaan stated morosely.

Mon stared at the Sullustan, was on the verge of stating that losing Horaarn support was the least of their worries now that Anakin Skywalker had laid claim to his son, but she stilled her tongue. No-one must know, and she could only hope that Rhovan’s mission would be successful but given the communication lock down of the Horaarn system the only word they got was from the state controlled media, the holonet.

Only when it reported either Luke’s escape, or death, would she know that Rhovan had been successful.

But then there was Leia. There had been little mention of the Princess since the hearing. The young woman had equipped herself well while under questioning and Mon couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Bail would have been proud. Padme would have been proud. Leia was a credit to her adoptive parents and natural mother.

_Perhaps even Vader would have been proud if he knew that Leia was his daughter_.

Mon scoffed at that thought. That man had no feelings for others, he only knew how to kill, how to conquer and subjugate, how to murder and maim.

_And yet he has torn this galaxy apart looking for his son._

That wasn’t care. That was obsession. That was a desire to take hold of something that was his and twist it to suit his needs and the needs of his master. What was it Bail had said in the message the droid had brought her?

_“… and keep them safe. The Jedi stressed that should Vader learn of his children, should he take possession of them that he will take them to his own master. They will turn them and use their Force abilities to strengthen the Empire. Mon… Leia and Luke will be twisted, will become evil and the Galaxy may never recover from these dark times._

_“They are our hope, Mon. Trained as Jedi they will possess the strength to defeat Palpatine and Vader. Promise me, promise that you will protect them until the Jedi can teach them what they need to know.”_

She had protected them as far as she could. She had kept their secret, had placed them both where their talents could flourish and for over two years she had been content to watch from a distance, content to watch Vader search for the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, content to keep one or two steps ahead of the Dark Lord and keep the boy out of his father’s reach.

Until Escaal, until Vader caught up with his son at last and everything had changed.

The experience had changed Luke, left him shaken and vulnerable, and he had stumbled from one bad decision to the next until now, when he was about to be handed to this father on platter and Mon knew the blame was squarely on her own shoulders.

It was she who had agreed to send Luke on the Cusrean mission and he had just confessed to firing upon the station while knowing its occupants were no danger.

_Was that the dark side of the Force? Was that an act of evil? Or was it the actions of an emotionally unbalanced boy who had been scared of the consequences of disobeying another direct order?_

She had then reluctantly agreed with the Horaarn Ambassador and had sent Luke along with Leia, had believed the trip it to be just what it seemed; a diplomatic solution to a growing crisis, despite the fact that Luke had attacked Major Rhovan and had drawn a weapon in a room full of other personnel.

How wrong her decisions seemed now and she could only hope that Bail would forgive her.

And Leia? What of Leia?

Was she safe? Or was she facing a similar danger to her brother?

Of course she was, Vader would never allow the Princess Leia Organa to escape him. She was a figure head, an important rallying point for the Rebellion. The Princess of a lost planet, forever loudly proclaiming the truth of Alderaan.

Dear Gods, had she really just sent them both into their father’s hands?

“Lady Mothma?”

She lifted her head and glanced at Rieekan sitting across from her. “I’m sorry, General, I wasn’t listening.”

“I was asking how we respond to this?”

“We disavow, Skywalker,” Sa’adaan stated, firmly. “He’s done more damage to the Alliance in the last few weeks than the Empire has ever done. We cut him loose and leave him to his fate.”

Anders was the first one to respond to that. “That’s ridiculous! We can’t do that. Luke was following his orders to the letter. If our intelligence had been correct we would be hailing him as a hero right now and he knows too much of our operations. We’d need to evacuate here and on every base of operations that Skywalker knows; every listening post, every fuel dump, weapons cache, every access code, every hyperspace algorithm…”

The Sullustan broke in. “A small price to pay when you look at the bigger picture. He’s a loose cannon, a Jedi, more prone to following feelings than orders. He’s impulsive and rash.”

Rieekan and Anders shared glances; this was a similar discussion to the one that had taken place only a few days ago after Skywalker’s debriefing when they had realised what Luke had done, had realised he had taken the shot despite his Force abilities telling him otherwise.

“Your argument is invalid,” Anders informed the Captain. “If Luke had followed his feelings, if his squad had listened to what he was telling them, then he would not be in the position he is, and neither would we. It is we who have forgotten how to listen to the Jedi.”

Sa’adaan was not defeated. “Nevertheless, he confessed to murdering over twenty thousand refugees, how do we defend that? As an organisation can we continue to show support to him? How much more support will we lose if we do that?” He paused, looking at each one in turn. “He is only one man, one human. No one person is more important than the Alliance itself.”

“The needs of the many…” Mothma said softly, knowing that Sa’adaan’s argument had merit, knowing that Anders’ did, too.

“Exactly!” Sa’adaan pounced, believing he had won the argument.

“Lady Mothma,” Rieekan began, perturbed. “You can’t possibly be thinking of disavowing Skywalker.”

Mothma stood, leaning on her desk. She had made too many mistakes where Luke was concerned. “No,” she stated clearly. “I’m not. We will not turn our backs on Luke, on Leia, or on any of our delegation to Horaarn. I have already sent Major Rhovan in to support the group and…”

“My Lady,” Anders began, surprised and uncomfortable that one of her staff had been given an assignment without her knowledge. “Was that wise, given Skywalker’s animosity toward Rhovan?”

“The Major’s particular skill set is exactly what we need in this circumstance,” Mothma told her. “He has far more knowledge than any of us on the tactics the Empire use and…”

“Because he designed many of them,” Rieekan murmured in disgust.

“… and he will not hesitate to do what is necessary to protect the Alliance.”

Ander’s chilled. “You’ve given him the order to terminate Skywalker,” it was a statement, not a question.

“As a last resort,” Mothma told her tightly. “Skywalker is Jedi and since Luke was identified as the pilot who destroyed the Death Star Vader has wanted him alive. Think about it Ehlen. If Skywalker were to turn, if he were to become Sith, our situation will be so much worse.”

“I believe Skywalker is better than that,” Anders stated, but how could she really know. She barely knew the young man, had only met him on two occasions and during both he was conflicted and hostile and she remembered the Clone Wars, remembered Dooku and his separatist forces. She knew Mon Mothma remembered, too.

Mothma nodded. “As do I, but precautions have to be taken. Luke has been changed by his experiences on Escaal and over Cusrean. He is no longer a boy, he is a man with innocent blood on his hands and I believe him too vulnerable to be left to Vader.” She paused, drew in a breath. “Which is why I want to get him out, I want to get them all out.

She straightened her shoulders, decision made. “General, bring Red Squadron back from patrol. I want to speak with Commander Narra. Major Anders I need everything you can get coming out of Horaarn just now. We say nothing publically,” she was looking at Sa’adaan. “Nothing at all until this is all over one way or another. Then we make a statement.”

She paused, waiting for questions, arguments, but there were none.

“How many standard hours to Horaarn hours?” Anders asked.

It was Rieekan who answered. “Fifty two Horaarn hours equates to forty-eight Galactic Standard.”

Mothma nodded, understanding why Anders had asked; they had a tight time limit.

“Then we have less than two days to get our people out.”

ooOOoo

 

To be continued.....


	13. Absolute Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia, Han and the others consider their options in the wake of Luke's arrest and conviction for murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers for this story still apply....

**Absolute**

**Part 5**

 

The air speeder carrying Leia was forced to land on the roof of the apartment building. She knew the streets below were filled with people, had been listening to the reports as she made the journey back to her apartment. Below her the crowds crushed together in the falling snow, in the falling night. Leia watched numbly as her speeder descended toward the landing area, she and her driver listening to the commentary over the vehicles comm.

“… estimates put the number of citizens on the streets at thirty-five thousand and First Minister Teraten has urged people to return to their homes…”

Leaning forward in her seat she rubbed at her temples trying to ward off the encroaching headache. The day had been a disaster and she was eager to get back into the privacy of her diplomatic rooms and contact Han. All her worries and doubts had come to fruition. The Empire was involved, the negotiations for continued support and supplies were never going to happen, the Alliance had lost Horaarn and Luke had badly handled the situation.

Luke…

Luke who seemed to be stumbling from one crisis to the next since Escaal, who was struggling with the aftermath of his time in Imperial custody, who should never have been included in this mission in the first place.

_He should never have been included in the Cusrean mission either,_ her conscience told her, laden with guilt at volunteering Luke for the attack. She should have let him be, should have allowed him to heal, should never have mentioned his name when Narra cited his lack of pilots. She shook her head. As bad as her own decision had been she had to question what Mon Mothma had been thinking in agreeing to send Luke to Horaarn? However, had she any real choice not to, when even a glimmer of hope existed of the Horaarns continuing their support if their demands for Luke to attend were met?

Could anyone have foreseen these events?

She sighed, rubbed at her eyes as the speeder descended toward her building.

“… crowds of citizens have gathered at the court house where the Alliance…”

_At least we are still the Alliance and not the Rebellion… yet…_

“…. pilot was earlier today convicted of multiple murders for the attack on the refugees at Cusrean in which over twenty thousand men, women and children died. As yet the security forces have been unable to remove him from the building due to significant unrest and we have had confirmation that First Minister Teraten has accepted Lord Vader’s offer of troops to help bring peace back to our streets. Assurances have been given, by the First Minister’s office, that Luke Skywalker will be sentenced appropriately and suffer the consequences for his heinous act...”

_He’s already suffering_ , Leia thought sorrowfully.

“… and he urges the good citizens of Horaarn to return to their homes and have trust in the justice system.”

“Idiot,” Leia muttered aloud. Did the man not understand that he was handing Horaarn on a platter to the Empire? The offer of troopers to restore order had been used before and it always lead to the world asking the Empire for further assistance and ultimately the world and its population being swallowed by Palpatine’s ever expanding territory.

The air speeder settled into the snow and it was only when the canopy was popped from outside that she realised there were armed security officers waiting for her. Her stomach flipped over with sudden anxiety. Dear Gods, had they found the lock breaker she had given Luke?

Had they found the droids? Discovered that Artoo had hacked into their systems?

A hand was extended and, once she had turned up her hood and pulled it over her hair, she politely accepted and gracefully exited the speeder. “Your Highness,” the senior officer bowed.

Leia pulled herself to her full height and spoke with regal clipped tones. “What is the meaning of this?” She gestured the other uniformed men with a wave of her hand.

“The First Minister has detailed us with your wellbeing, your Highness. Given the unrest he thought it prudent that you have a security detail attached to you for the duration of your stay.”

It made sense, and she would probably have ordered the same if she had been in Teraten’s place, but as long as… “Give the First Minister my thanks,” Leia told him as she walked toward the waiting turbolift, “but I do request that my diplomatic apartments remain just that and that my privacy will not be encroached upon.”

“Those are the First Minister’s explicit instructions, Your Highness,” the officer assured her.

Leia gave a curt nod and turned away from him, walking toward the open door and the turbolift carriage beyond. The Horaarns came behind her, trailed her all the way down to her apartment. She keyed the door open and entered. As the door slid closed, she saw the officers gather in the hallway directly outside. They may have said they were for her protection, but Leia knew they were also her guards.

She threw down her hood and leaned against the door. “Shit!” she cursed, ignoring the echo of her father’s voice admonishing her for swearing.

She hung her head, briefly, allowing the despair and anguish to swamp her. This situation was getting worse by the minute.

_We’re going to lose Luke._

It wasn’t a just a random fear, it was a surety, a conviction. They were going to lose Luke.

Drawing in a breath Leia firmly banished her thoughts, forced them to back of her mind, annoyed that she allowing negativity to descend. This was Luke and Han - it was at times when things were at their most bleak that they always came through. It was when they were cornered and in dire circumstances that the craziest ideas struck.

And somehow, just somehow, they always pulled it off. They always lived to see another day. She had to remember that Thecla was out there in the city. Han had the Falcon prepped and ready to go. Luke had the lock-breaker.

It was up to her now to secure a legal representative to make Luke’s appeal for innocence at the coming hearing just in case Luke hadn’t broken away before sentencing was due.

She pushed away from the door and strode through the apartment.

“Your Highness!” Threepio greeted.

“Any word, Threepio?” she asked as she walked past him causing him to pull to a halt and about turn after her.

“Oh my! Yes, Your Highness. Sergeant Da’amalan is currently cut off from the court building and these apartments due to the deployment of Imperial soldiers in the city. I believe she is looking for a place of refuge to wait out the storm and for Master Luke to contact us.”

Leia stopped by the huge window, looking out at the balcony beyond at the snow that settled and drifted against the balustrade. “What’s happening with Luke?”

Artoo, still connected to the city’s systems, let out a screed of chatter.

“Artoo says that Master Luke is still in the court building. It has proven difficult for the local security forces to clear the area of protestors and there have been many arrests. Once the square in front has been cleared Master Luke is to be transported by Lord Vader’s shuttle to the prison.”

Leia closed her eyes. Vader again….

_“Tell Han, shields up and punch it!”_

“Artoo, get me Han!” She needed to speak with him about Luke’s warning but, truthfully, she also just needed to hear his voice. “And I need names and contact details for Horaarn’s defence advocates.”

Artoo tooted assent and set to work.

Leia sank down on the chair by the window and spent a few moments just watching the snow fall.

ooOOoo

Luke sat on the bench in the temporary holding cell under the court house watching through the ray shielded entry as the guards outside milled around and spoke in low voices. He’d been here a while now and the binders around his wrists were beginning to bite into his skin, his shoulders burned with his hands trapped behind his back and his backside was numb from sitting too long. He was tired, drained and, despite everything that had happened, he was looking forward to getting back to that white cell and to some food and rest.

He had overheard snatches of conversation while sitting here. He had heard the guards discussing him, heard what they would like to see happen to him. They had been taking bets on whether he would be extradited to the Empire or executed here on Horaarn. It seemed the odds favoured the extradition and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that… and did it really matter anyway? Either way he was a dead man.

He had also learned of the unrest in the city, of the snow storm that hadn’t stopped the riots and protests. He had heard of more stormtroopers being deployed into the streets. He had heard of deaths.

Luke closed his eyes, hung his head, feeling weary of it. He wished that he could alter time, speed to the future and just get all of this over with.

There was a scrape of boot steps outside and he opened his eyes, glanced up as another guard passed his door. He groaned, recognising the heavy-set guard who had raised his hand to him, the guard Vader had sent flying up the corridor. The man stopped outside and stared in at him, eyes dark, cheek bone grazed and bruised.

Luke looked back to the floor, refusing to give the Horaarn any reaction, but he was aware of the hostility, of the piercing glare.

“Get up, Convicted,” he was told, harshly, “time to go.”

Luke swore silently and stood up as the ray-shield disengaged and he shuffled to the door. His arms were taken by the larger man and one other guard who stepped in. They walked him to the bank of elevators. It would appear that they were taking no risks with him since they found the lock-breaker on him.

Leia was going to be disappointed and even more concerned when he didn’t make contact and he was sorry to have let her down. From the holding cells he would be taken to the elevators, from the elevators he would arrive in the lobby and from there he would be walked and escorted to Vader’s shuttle and flown to the penitentiary.

There would be no chance to escape tonight.

The door of the turbolift slashed open and his escorts walked him through. He stood in the middle, turned around to face the door and his guards stood behind him, hands still grasping his arms.

It happened fast, with no warning, no twist in the Force.

The lift shot upward and jerked, suddenly and violently, to a stop, sending him stumbling forward into the door.

He fell to his knees. Someone grabbed him from behind. He glanced up, saw a glint of metal and twisted away, crying out as the vibroblade plunged into this shoulder. The blade was yanked free, raised again… and another hand grabbed his assailant’s arm and suddenly he was free, slumping forward to the floor as the two officers fought each other.

There was a scream, a gurgle and a thump of someone hitting the floor. He was grabbed once more and turned over. He stared up into the blood-spattered face of his attacker.

“This is for Cusrean!”

The blade flashed down.

Luke cried out a denial, totally helpless, unable to defend himself.

There was a flare of light, a burst of blaster fire and his assailant stiffened and dropped forward on top of him.

There was a soft sigh and the guard who had saved him, the heavy set Horaarn, lay back against the wall and closed his eyes, the blaster pistol falling from his grasp. Blood ran from a gash in his throat, ran down his body and pooled on the floor.

Suddenly it was quiet.

Adrenalin kicking in, Luke wriggled from beneath the dead man, fighting against his shackles and binders to extricate himself from the weight of the body. He twisted out and lay for a moment, catching his breath, dazed at the events of the last minute or so.

Both the guards were dead, the turbolift was stopped.

This was it!

Luke pushed himself backward against the body of the Horaarn: struggling, fighting with his bound hands to reach the belt of the dead man to retrieve the binders’ lock release. Catching it with his fingers he pulled it free and flicked it into his palm. Bending his wrists, swearing under his breath at the pain from his shoulder, at the slippery feel of his own and the other man’s blood, he touched the release to the cuffs and they fell free. He tossed the cuffs aside and freed his ankles.

He had to move quickly, he had to free himself and get out of this turbolift before they got it working again. This was the only chance of escape he was going to get. He glanced up at the ceiling, at the escape hatch. If he piled the bodies on to each other he could reach it, he could climb through the shaft, find a way out of this building and…

_…remember Five-nine-four-four- two-three-eight. Thecla’s out and the Falcon’s sitting ready…_

…he would need a comlink to contact Thecla.

He kicked the body of his attacker to the side, lifted the blaster from the blood pool on the floor and wiped it against the leg of his pants. He pocketed the gun and, kneeled beside the murdered guard, rifling through his pockets looking for a comlink.

A bloodied hand caught his wrist and, startled, Luke glanced into the Horaarn’s dark eyes surprised that the guard was still clinging to life.

“Don’t… run…” the man whispered.

Luke tugged, trying to break the hold, feeling desperate and wretched. He had to get out of here, he had to go or else risk being handed to Vader. He couldn’t do that again, couldn’t go through the same torment as Escaal. He had to find a comlink.

“Please…”

The appeal gave him pause and Luke sat back on his heels feeling warm blood from his shoulder wound trickle down his skin, soaking his uniform. He stared at the dying man, at the blood running from the gash in the guard’s neck, his feelings convoluted and torn.

Don’t run…

What else was he supposed to do? This was the only chance he was going to get. How else was he going to get out of this situation? If he stayed he knew he was a dead man, he knew he would be extradited, he knew he would leave Horaarn in Vader’s custody and he knew he wouldn’t last long.

He had to run, he had to get away.

Thecla was out there. Leia and Han were waiting on him, counting on him.

He had to move…

“Do…n’t… run…” Blood bubbled in the man’s throat, spilling from his mouth, running down his chin.

Don’t run…

He could hear shouts from outside, could hear people responding to the sudden stop of the lift. He had to get up, he had to move, he had to…

_…She grabbed his hand, climbed up beside him and at the first shout of “Stay where you are!” they jumped together into the air, into the snow and fell hitting the water feet first._

_The sudden cold drove the breath from him, his grip on her slipping as the strong current caught them and tugged and pulled at them. Thecla’s hand was wrenched from his. Luke frantically felt through the water, arms flailing as he tried to find her in the dark. But with his lungs burning for air, he kicked, propelling his body upward, muscles working against the currents. He burst through the surface, gasping in a breath of freezing air, kicking water, frantically looking around for her._

_“Thecla!”_

_A shadow fell over him and he turned in the water…_

_…and all fight left him, all thoughts of running banished as he saw the troopers lining the river bank and saw Vader among them._

_“It is futile to run, Skywalker.”_

The grip on his wrist tightened. “Don’t… run.”

Drawn from his vision, Luke placed his own hand over the dying man’s. It had been a repeat of his dream from the previous night and he wasn’t entirely sure what it all meant, but if it was the Force and, if he trusted what he had seen, then Thecla would die and he would still be a captive.

Running would achieve nothing except Thecla’s death.

Decision made, feelings strangely calm, he tightened his grasp on the other man’s hand, wanting to give the Horaarn comfort and assurances as he died. “I’m not going to run.”

The guard nodded, gave a half smile, a little hitch of breath. He laid his head back against the wall and was gone.

The lift jerked, knocking Luke back, his hand landing on the discarded knife as he tried to steady himself. His palm dragged along the sharp blade slicing a thin cut along his skin. He hissed in pain and picked it up as the elevator resumed its journey upward. The breaking mechanism engaged and the carriage slowed and stopped. The doors opened and Luke glanced out from the carnage to the men waiting for him in the lobby.

Their initial reaction to the death and gore in the elevator was one of stunned shock. The shock quickly gave way to horror and anger and a terrible conclusion. Guns were raised in Luke’s direction.

“Get up!”

Luke pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the wound in his shoulder pulled. He lifted his hand to the wound and…

“Drop the blade!”

“What?”

Bewildered at the sudden shout he looked down and saw the knife in his hand. Abruptly, he realised what they thought. Horrified, he stumbled back against the wall holding his hand out, pointing the blade, offering it to them. “No! This wasn’t me… I ne…”

The stun blast dropped him.

ooOOoo

The Imperial Shuttle raised its wings as it slowed and gracefully landed in the falling snow. The ramp lowered and a squad of troopers exited to line a path in the snow from the court house doorway to the shuttle’s hatch.

It would be so easy, Vader told himself again, so easy to just take Luke now: walk him to the shuttle and remove him from this planet right now. He was a Dark Lord of the Sith, he should not have to pander to these people. He should not have to barter and negotiate to have his son transferred to his custody.

Luke was his by rights.

It would be so easy and he was so close.

He allowed his respirator to draw in breath, using the moment to once again still his impatience. All of this was by his design: he would see it through and he would leave Horaarn with his son and with a major political triumph for the Empire.

His master should be proud.

His master…

Palpatine had been unusually quiet, their last contact having been days ago when he had arrived at Horaarn. He had explained his plans to his master, had explained that he believed he could lure out the Force-strong Rebel pilot and capture him alive using the political backlash against the Rebellion. The Empire would take the boy and the moral victory.

The Emperor had been thoughtful, praising him for his foresight and patience and again instructing that the boy be brought to him to face justice.

And still neither had openly recognised Luke as his son.

Disquiet rolled through him, purling and curling within, and he had to wonder what his master was planning for his son.

_No!_

The burst of fear through the Force shattered Vader’s thoughts.

_Luke!_

He turned, cloak billowing in a gust of wind, and strode in through the foyer of the court house as an alarm began to klaxon loudly. A shout of, “We need a medic! Medic!” could be heard above other loud voices.

First Minister Teraten ran out from a nearby door followed several of his staff and headed toward the turbolifts.

“What has happened?” he demanded, knowing it was Luke, knowing something had gone wrong.

Teraten paled, blanched at the rage in the Dark Lord’s voice, trailing him as they rounded the corner in time to see the inert figure of the Rebel pilot being dragged from the elevator by his legs. He was covered in blood.

Vader’s heart raced as he approached. He knew Luke wasn’t dead, could feel the boy’s presence in the Force strong and vibrant, but he was injured.

Luke was tossed to the side, discarded as the Horaarns pulled more bodies from the carriage. These two were dead.

“What has happened?” Vader demanded again, louder, his tones commanding an answer.

A Horaarn officer stepped forward, glanced at Vader but addressed the First Minister. “It looks like the Convicted attempted to escape,” he said, a little breathlessly, anger barely contained. “He’s killed two of my men. He had a knife, we had to subdue him with a stun shot.”

There was a faint groan as Luke stirred on the floor and he was suddenly the centre of attention, being turned onto his belly and refastened into his bonds. A shout went up when they found a handgun in his pocket.

Vader walked to the lift, looked into the body of the carriage, taking in the blood spatters and the bloody pool. He studied the bodies, the cut throat, the blaster wound.

He pushed the Horaarn’s out of the way and bent over his son, turned him onto his back and ripped open the blood-soaked Rebel dress uniform revealing a deep stab wound to his left shoulder, still running with blood.

“It was not Skywalker,” Vader announced, standing up. He was sure of it, the Force was clear.

“My Lord Vader,” Teraten tried to appease. “The evidence clearly demonstrates guilt and…”

“Not this time,” Vader rumbled. “I suggest you check your security systems. The boy was the victim and requires a medic.”

Teraten wanted to argue, Vader could see that, but instead the First Minister nodded to the security officer. “Go and check.”

“And the medic?” Vader questioned.

Another nod from Teraten and the medics moved away from the bodies and knelt beside Luke. Vader watched them work. They checked the boy’s vital signs, noted his stab wound, but were satisfied that the vibroblade had penetrated only Luke’s pectoral muscle and scraped against the clavicle without rupturing any major blood vessels. They dressed the injury, checked for others and found the gash in his palm.

Luke stirred again as the cut in his hand was treated, eyelids flickering as he fought to regain consciousness.

“First Minister!”

Both Teraten and Vader turned at the call. The security officer jogged toward them, glancing at the dazed pilot on the floor as he passed.

“Lord Vader is correct,” he told them, sounding incredulous. “Skywalker was the victim. Officer Sheni was a resettled Cusrean. He attacked the convicted, stabbed Senior Officer L’haern and was then shot by L’haern when he tried to finish off the convicted.” Another look at the prone boy, confusion clear on his face, disbelief underscoring his voice. “Skywalker freed his binders, took the blaster and was looking through L’haern’s pockets when L’haern stopped him. He told Skywalker not to run and Skywalker told him he wasn’t. He then remained with L’haern as he died.”

Vader turned away, turned to stare down at his son. Luke was still fighting to come around, his head lolling on the floor and he groaned again.

Luke had given up his only chance of escape out of compassion for a dying man? And he was reminded of Ra’imar, when Luke had limped toward him in the rain, had believed that giving himself up would save his friends. The boy had courage. Misguided though it was, it was courage nonetheless.

Did the boy truly not understand the predicament he was in? Did he not fully appreciate what the future held for him? Or was he like his father, too preoccupied by youth, head too full of dreams to truly comprehend what awaited him, once he was a prisoner of the Empire and in the Emperor’s presence?

_“Find him, bring him to me and we shall show him what it means to defy his Emperor.”_

Had it never occurred to Luke that he was so important that Palpatine himself wished to deal with him?

But first Vader had to get him to Palpatine, alive, and this attempt on his son’s life had just given him the opportunity he was looking for. He needed time with Luke before the sentencing hearing. He needed the boy to understand that fighting against him now would achieve nothing.

“First Minister,” he intoned, “it is clear that Skywalker’s safety has been compromised. Your Forces cannot be trusted with his wellbeing. I demand that he be placed in my custody immediately and held within our facility as previously offered.”

Teraten nervously licked his lips. “My Lord, the convicted cannot be passed to your custody until the proper procedures have taken place and the extradition granted.”

“If he comes to further harm, First Minister, the Emperor will be most displeased, as will the Cusrean people who look to you to give them justice,” Vader warned him, his voice tight with rage.

Teraten flinched, but stood strong. “I’m sorry my Lord, he must remain in Horaarn custody.”

Another groan from the floor.

“Very well,” Vader conceded, and added, “He remains in your custody, but within our facility…”

“My Lord….”

“…. which is housed beneath your own prison.” Vader added, negotiating further. “I will permit Horaarn guards to escort him and to remain in the vicinity while we contain him. He will be safer with us and justice will prevail.”

Teraten sighed in resignation, and he nodded, agreeing with the Dark Lord. The people must be appeased and if Skywalker was to be killed outside of the law then Justice would not be seen to be done, it would damage the relationship between the peoples of Horaarn and Cusrean. Where there had been one attempt there may be many more just waiting their chance.

“I agree to your conditions, Lord Vader, you may house the convicted,” he accepted reluctantly and addressed the officer beside him. “Captain, take three men with you, Horaarn only.”

“Yes, sir!”

A self-satisfied smile curled Vader’s lips beneath his mask as he turned away from Teraten, watching as Luke’s semiconscious body was lifted from the floor. The boy grunted in pain, legs buckling, head drooping as they dragged him out.

Vader followed at his back, opening himself to the Force keeping his concentration on the people around him, on the plaza outside and the beings in the surrounding buildings, looking for threats, for intent. He did not relax until the shuttle ramp was raised and his son dumped unceremoniously on the deck plates.

ooOOoo

The room stank of sweat, of blood and the stench of seared flesh.

The electro-charge suddenly stopped and Rhovan gasped in relief, gulped in a breath of air, his chest heaving with exertion. His shoulders cramped, his muscles taut, bunched as the strain of his body weight pulled. Fresh blood ran from his broken nose, from his mouth, from where Velaptor had struck him in his frustrations.

“Come, Major,” Velaptor soothed, running his gloved fingers across the skin of Rhovan’s stomach, across the bruises that mottled his torso. “You and I both know that this will not cease until you have answered my questions.”

Rhovan hissed in another breath at the touch: not from hurt, but from disgust.

Velaptor grinned at the reaction and repeated the action. “We have been at this for some time now and I am sure that you are tired and in need of some water and rest. I could have you taken down, taken to a holding cell and…”

Rhovan laughed, spat blood.

“You find something funny, Major?”

He did, but he wasn’t going to tell Velaptor the joke. He had used almost these exact words time and again with subjects and it was only now that he realised how pathetic the lies were, how hollow they sounded. It was little wonder then that they rarely worked with trained and seasoned soldiers and resistance operatives.

He would have to remember never to use them again himself.

“Major?” Velaptor reached up and grabbed the hanging man’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks. He repeated, “You find something funny?”

Rhovan closed his eyes, took in a breath before opening them and staring down at the Captain. “I’m just thinking… of the sound your neck will make when I snap it.”

He took delight in the sudden flare of fear in the captain’s eyes, even as he realised he had made a mistake by speaking, but then, didn’t they all eventually make that same mistake?

Velaptor grimaced with fury and he gestured sharply at the guards and then stepped back and watched as they beat the prisoner, driving their fists into his body, beating his back with their batons. His eyes slid closed, listening, and smiling at the grunts and cries of pain. He counted in his head, counted away minutes before saying softly. “Enough.”

Rhovan’s rib cage seemed to contract forcing the air from his lungs and he had difficulty drawing in another breath. He coughed, wheezed and hitched as he forced oxygen into his body.

“What was your mission for the Alliance?” Velaptor demanded. “Why are you on Horaarn?”

It took a few seconds for him to find the energy to speak. “Why are you on Horaarn?” he countered.

“What was your mission for the Alliance? Why are you on Horaarn?” the Captain barked again.

Rhovan considered the question, dismissed it and through gasps of breath he stated. “I am… on a specialist mission… authorisation aurek-aurek-th….ree-three-four-…zero-Dorn. I am… neither to be delayed nor… detained.”

Velaptor sighed. “Yes, yes, so you said earlier. I am not interested in what you think you were doing for the Empire. You are a traitor and…”

The door swept open and Rhovan could hear running footsteps and an excited, harassed voice. “Captain! Lord Vader is inbound with Skywalker! He orders that you vacate this room.”

Horror rattled through Rhovan. Vader already had Skywalker. He had failed his mission for Mon Mothma.

He relaxed on the line, hung his head, conflicted with feels: of relief that his torture was over; and alarm because the Dark Lord of the Sith had already claimed his son. He found himself wondering what would happen to him now… then concern flowed in to replace the selfish thoughts: concern for the boy that he had tried to crush, in a cell all too similar to this one.

Skywalker would not last long if subjected to Velaptor’s cruelty.

_Your own cruelty…_

The line holding him suddenly released and he fell, crashing to the floor.

Velaptor stood over him considering him for a moment before turning to his guards. “Have the Major taken to a holding cell. Clean him, treat him, dress him, feed him. Lord Vader wishes him whole.”

Confusion shook Rhovan, he had expected more, had expected a blaster bolt to the head, not this reprieve. Prisoners were never redressed, never given sustenance, never allowed medical aid unless it was to treat a life threatening condition where interrogation was to continue.

What did Vader want?

Hands grabbed his slick skin, encircled his arms and dragged him from the interrogation cell.

ooOOoo

Han was almost glad he wasn’t in the same room as Leia and he didn’t envy the Horaarn First Minister once the Princess had managed to get hold of him. Leia was gunning for blood.

He was out for blood himself, was furious and frustrated, hating being stuck on the landing platform while his friend’s very life now hung in the balance. Han had heard of the Horaarn penalty for murder, knew the method and knew the multiple casualties of Cusrean would mean a slow agonising death for the kid.

_Ain’t gonna happen…_

He stared out of the cockpit window at the falling snow.

If he could he’d be off this platform. If he could he’d be striding up to the exit of the platform and shooting his way out to get to his friends. He knew it was futile, he knew he’d never get past the number of security officers and Imperial troopers now gathered outside. He knew he had to keep the Falcon in top condition, knew everything had to be working to make good their escape once Thecla returned with Luke and Leia, knew he and Haslam had to provide covering fire to scatter the cordon of soldiers between them and the Falcon while Chewie fired up the engines and charged the main guns. He knew he would be needed to pilot them off this rock and past whatever blockade they would find in the system. So getting himself killed while trying to break off the platform was a no brainer.

“… and then he shouted to tell you ‘shields up and punch it’ before they dragged him out,” Leia finished and Han realised that her voice had softened, had become sad.

Han nodded, back-tracking in his mind trying to remember everything Leia had told him. “Yeah, I figured I’d need to fly us out hot.” He sighed, raked a hand through his hair and finished with, “It’s not just the kid Vader’s after.”

There was a moment of silence from Leia and Han knew she had to be thinking what being captured would mean for her, remembering what capture _had_ meant for her. “I know,” she told him, softly.

“He’s not getting us, Leia,” Han promised trying to reassure her. “He’s not getting any of us. Luke’ll know when to take his chance, he…”

“Princess Leia. Oh my, your Highness!”

Threepio’s sudden muted shout over the comm propelled Han to his feet, suddenly terrified that something had happened to Leia, suddenly afraid that Vader had forgone all diplomacy and had gone straight for her.

“Leia?” he called, wincing at the fear he heard in his voice.

He could hear muffled conversation between the droid and Leia, caught a few words “Master Luke,” “killed,” “guards,” “escape,” and hope rose within him replacing his fear. He grinned, laughing at himself for his overreaction to Threepio’s shout.

_I knew the kid could do it!_

Grinning, he threw himself back into his chair as the Princess came back on the comm.

“Han?”

His smile faded, he frowned at her tone, at how guarded she sounded. “I’m here,” he told her, suddenly realising he may have picked up the wrong idea, suddenly afraid that the words he had heard could have another meaning.

“Artoo just picked up a communication. Luke’s been injured.”

There was relief at first; the kid wasn’t the one killed.

“There was an attempt on his life. Two guards were killed and Luke wounded. He made an initial attempt to escape but he… stayed.”

“Stayed,” Han repeated unconsciously as his brain tried to figure out what she meant. “He stayed?”

Stayed sounded like Luke had made a choice, had made a deliberate decision.

“Just how badly injured is he?” That had to be it; the kid couldn’t have escaped due to his injuries. He wouldn’t have chosen to stay.

“Knife wound to his shoulder.”

To the shoulder. It depended on where on the shoulder, didn’t it? If the muscles had been sliced, it would impede his movement and...

_… you saw him, Solo. You saw him after Escaal, you saw him after Cusrean… you saw how he wanted to blame that Major and yet you saw how he took the blame solely on himself._

_… you also saw the kid more rational, you saw him beginning to come to terms with what had happened. Just as you all left Ardralii, Luke was mostly Luke again and…_

_… you saw him on the holonet. You saw him wilt under the questions. You saw how he looked at Vader, how he confessed to firing on the space station while knowing it was not a threat._

“Do they know why he stayed?” He had to ask, he had to know why Luke would throw away his only chance.

There was a sigh. “That’s what’s confused them,” she told him. “He stayed with one of the guards as he died.”

It didn’t confuse Leia, nor did it confuse Han.

Damn the stupid kid and his honesty! Damn his innate goodness! Damn his compulsion to stay with a dying man.

“Han, Luke is being taken back to the prison. He’s to be held in a maximum security cell block that the Imperial’s have beneath the main prison.”

“Why do the Imps have a prison on Hoaarn?” It was an independent system, it had no ties to the Empire except for the orbiting fuelling station and they paid big credits to the Horaarns for the privilege. Perhaps it was linked to that, part of the deal.

“I don’t know,” Leia sounded weary, sounded wrung out and exhausted. Han wanted to be there, wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her.

He’d wanted to be able to do that for a while now.

“Did they find the lock-breaker?” he asked, fearful that he already knew the answer.

Leia’s reply was a breath, a sigh. “Yes, and I have a feeling that I’ll be getting a visit from the First Minister. I’ve broken diplomatic rules.”

Another rake of his hair. “What’s the worst they can do?”

“They could expel me,” and Han could hear what she was thinking. They could expel her and there would be no-one there for Luke. He’d be on his own.

Han leaned forward, elbows on the console in front of him. “They won’t,” he assured her, trying to be upbeat, trying to think positive about a situation where everything had gone wrong for them from the very beginning. He wracked his brains again to think of a scam or a move that could get him close to Luke, while at the same time knowing that Luke would want him to be there for Leia, to get Leia safely home.

_“Shields up and punch it.”_

They had been out-manoeuvred and manipulated even before they left Ardralii and Han knew that they would be lucky to evade capture themselves.

“We still have Thecla,” he informed Leia.

There was silence for a moment. “Where is she?”

“She was close to you, couldn’t get to you though because of the trouble in the streets. I told her to find shelter and wait it out.”

“I’ll have Artoo find out when Luke’s sentencing hearing is, what the transport arrangements are, see if there is anywhere Thecla can intercept.”

“I’ll contact her; let her know what’s going on.”

“We’re asking a lot of her, Han,” the Princess said, a warning in her voice, a tone that told him not to get his hopes up. He knew she wasn’t writing Luke off, he knew she would never do that, if anyone had faith in the kid it would be Leia, but he knew she was keeping him grounded, keeping herself grounded.

“I get the feeling she wouldn’t have it any other way,” Han told her, thinking of the blush that had given the sergeant’s feelings about Luke away to him.

He heard the smile in Leia’s voice when she replied. “Do you think there’s something there?”

“Oh, it’s there,” Han grinned. “Luke just needs to do something about it.”

They signed off, Leia going to look through a list of Legal Representatives that Artoo had complied for her. Luke needed a good advocate and Han was concerned that given the current climate she may have her work cut out for her. He, on the other hand, was going to check that the Falcon’s shields and guns were fully charged.

_“Shields up and punch it.”_

Sometimes the kid needed to listen to his own advice.

ooOOoo

Upper arms firmly held by his Horaarn guards, enclosed in a phalanx of stormtroopers and with Vader following at his back, Luke was escorted through the snow from the shuttle, into the prison. He was tired, in pain, exhausted, his body ready to lie down, his mind wanting to shut down and deny it all.

_Can’t do this…_

He tripped over his shackles, was caught and righted before a bank of turbolifts. His shoulder seared with pain, the cut on his palm stung and his body ached from the stun blast and he knew that very soon they would be least of his concerns. He clenched his jaw, fighting his growing panic, the buzzing in his head, as the lift door slide aside and he was pushed forward into the confined space with the Horaarns and Vader. The Dark Lord’s presence was suffocating, his nearness intolerable, bearing down against him, driving the breath from him. He was hoping that they didn’t realise how scared he was, hoping they put down his erratic breathing down to his stab wound.

_Got no choice…_

The lift dropped, taking his stomach with it. He hung his head, fighting off the wave of nausea and dizziness that suddenly tilted his vision… another after effect of being stunned, of being wounded. He couldn’t pass out! It had been bad enough coming to full awareness lying on the deck plates of Vader’s shuttle; it had been too much like Escaal, too much like regaining consciousness on that other shuttle before being dragged to his feet and pushed down the exit ramp… too much…

It was too much…

Luke heaved in a breath, trying to calm down, telling himself this was not Escaal. He was still in Horaarn custody. He still had his sentencing hearing and the extradition process. The Empire didn’t have him. Vader couldn’t harm him.

_Not yet…_

The lift opened and Luke froze. His belly clenched, twisted with sudden dread. He wanted to shout out, he wanted to struggled and fight, he wanted to brace his feet against the floor and refuse to move.

A gloved hand fell on his injured shoulder and he recoiled, crying aloud in agony. Vader’ fingers clamped into his collar bone. Luke’s legs buckled and he was caught by the Horaarns, lifted back to his feet. Cool sweat beaded on his brow as he fought against the pain, the light-headedness that threated to send him crashing to the floor.

“Move!” Vader brooked no resistance.

Luke shuddered in a breath. His body felt like lead, his legs heavy and cumbersome, and he stepped forward into the dark interior of the atrium. He took in the familiar sight of the command desk and monitoring systems, the black garbed Imperial guards who were all taking an interest in him, and the hexagon shaped corridor leading away from the entrance.

It was like the Death Star. It was like Escaal.

Two of the Imperials stepped forward and bodily removed him from the Horaarns. They turned him, taking him to the side, away from the cell tunnel and walking him toward another doorway. As the entry slid open he could hear the Horaarns protesting behind him, could hear the other guards placate them and explain to them that they could stay within the foyer by the command desk but that for reasons of Imperial security they could go no further.

He heard them being told that Skywalker would not be harmed. Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better. It didn’t soothe him, didn’t make the beating panic subside.

_Just do this, you have to do this. Just do what they want._

Vader stepped into the room behind him and the door closed. A medical bench, fitted with restraints, sat in a pool of light with a Too-One-bee unit quietly waiting beside it. Luke swallowed. This could either be what it looked like, a simple treatment room for prisoners, or another room for torture.

Or it could be both.

He didn’t fight the guards as they undid his bonds, freeing his hands and feet. Their hands grabbed at his bloodied uniform peeling it from his shoulders and he steeled himself against the flaring pain from his stab wound as they stripped him. He was turned and pushed to sit on the bench.

“Lie down, please, sir,” the droid intoned pleasantly.

Swallowing Luke obeyed, knowing that to fight would be futile, knowing that to fight would only court Vader’s wrath.

There would be plenty of time in the future for that.

He closed his eyes as they fastened his wrists into the binders, his pants were loosened and removed along with his boots. Cool metal closed around his ankles. Humiliated, embarrassed, Luke opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling, trying to distance himself from what was happening; trying not to think that he was lying naked and helpless in front of his father’s murderer, trying not to think of the things they could do to him while in this position, but unable to stop the imagined images from drifting teasingly through his mind.

“Clean him, treat his injuries, run a full physical assessment and transmit the results to my ship.”

Startled, Luke couldn’t help but glance over at the Dark Lord; they were treating him? Why would they do that?

His court appearance.

That had to be it. They couldn’t have him appear in public in less than perfect health. Appearances had to be maintained to make the Empire appear above reproach. However, Luke couldn’t help wondering what Vader could possibly want with his medical results and then berated himself for his own stupidity. If Vader and his interrogators knew his body’s limits then they could tailor their interrogation techniques more effectively: would know what areas of his body were the weakest points for when they finally had full custody of him.

“As you command, my Lord,” the soft tones of the droid seemed incongruous in the bleak setting.

Now confident that he was not to be harmed as they had assured the Horaarns, Luke heaved in another breath, forced himself to lie still and endure the indignity. He stared at the ceiling in silence as his own blood and that of the Horaarn guard was washed from his body. He lay still as the droid removed the dressing from his shoulder and probed the wound, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth at the pain that lanced from the injury and he flexed his arm, clenched his fist as the droid worked.

“Please try to relax,” the machine told him, injecting him with a strong local anaesthetic, keeping him awake, keeping him coherent and aware of his situation.

Relax? Here? In this place, with Vader standing over him?

He nearly laughed at that, nearly burst with hysterical amusement, the tension within him unbearable, looking for a release. He swallowed it down, choked it back, and hid it within a barking cough.

Vader’s helmet tilted and Luke realised that his captor knew exactly how he was feeling, knew exactly the mess his head was in. He closed his eyes again, not wanting to look, not wanting to see, struggling to still his growing consternation, his conflicting emotions.

Once his shoulder was fully numbed, his wound was carefully closed and a bacta dressing applied. The cut on his hand received similar attention. His bruised and cut face was re-examined and his body was scanned for blood pressure, oxygen saturation. Blood samples were taken for analysis, and through it all the Dark Lord stood at the side watching in silence.

Finally the droid moved back and the restraints released his limbs.

“Get up,” he was told by one of the guards. They dragged him off the bench. He was forcefully dressed in a pair of simple grey pants and short-sleeved shirt.

He was turned around and his hands once more firmly cuffed behind his back. His upper arms were clasped and he was led back into the atrium, passed the command desk, passed the watching Horaarns and Imperials, and taken down the cell corridor. He swallowed, heart hammering in his chest as they stopped before a bland, black durasteel door, telling himself it was just a holding cell, just a room where they would leave him in peace until his hearing. This would not be an interrogation room.

The door slashed open. He saw the single chair sitting with a water bottle on the seat. He saw the line hanging from the ceiling. He saw the droid hovering close by and a man dressed in the uniform of an Imperial Interrogation Specialist.

_Rhovan?_

Terrified, the adrenalin surged. “No!”

ooOOoo

Thecla switched the comm off, laid her head against the cellar wall and allowed worry and fatigue to close her eyes.

Skywalker hadn’t escaped and had lost the lock breaker. Solo, Haslam and the Wookiee were stuck on the landing platform guarded by the Force knew how many Horaarn and Imperial soldiers. The Princess was in her apartment now, likewise surrounded by Horaarn Security. And she was stuck in the darkened basement of the bar at the top of the alley way as even more soldiers and security tried to bring peace back to the city streets.

The bar was closed for business, locked tight and quiet for now. Thecla had found a small, side window at street level, hidden by the drifting snow. It broke and opened easily and she had squeezed in and dropped to the duracrete floor. She had used the small, staff fresher room to wash most of the sewer from her clothes and she was drying her garments on the hot pipes that fed the bar’s heating system.

She had just hung up her pants and pulled a tarpaulin around her body when Solo had commed her.

She now had two choices: to re-enter the sewers, avoid the Imperial troopers and make her way back to the ship and abandon Skywalker; or to hang tight and try and make a move for Luke before, or just after, his sentencing hearing when they were transporting him.

Which meant trying to get near the court building either above or below ground.

Whichever way, her odds of success were not great.

Luke would be heavily guarded, protected. It would be near impossible to get near him, impossible to secure him and get him away.

She sighed, opened her eyes in the evening gloom, and eyed the barrels of drink and the shelves stacked with crates and bottles of spirits, wines and beers and snacks, wondering if there was any Corellian Ale among the stock.

Thecla shook her head, now was not the time to drink. Now was not the time to lose her head in the fog of alcohol no matter how appealing it was.

This was a hopeless task they were asking of her.

Unless there was a third choice.

A third choice that was no less dangerous for her, but one that Luke might prefer to Imperial custody, one that would save him from Vader, save him from the fate that awaited him, a fate that he had already experienced and that haunted him still.

A third choice, one that would countermand her orders, that would place her in direct conflict with her mission and her duty.

She had seen Luke on that shuttle when Rhovan had returned with him, had seen the physical tells of incessant Imperial interrogation on his body. She had later witnessed him walking resolutely toward Vader on Ra’imar knowing he was facing that same treatment, just to save her and Haslam. She had found him wandering drunk, lost and alone, in the falling ash on Ardralii after the Cusrean mission. She had witnessed his conflict, his pain, when she had arrived at the hollow in the woods to arrest him after he had attacked Major Rhovan.

_“You like him,”_ Solo had teased. _“Don’tcha?”_

Thecla lowered her head. This was a complication she had not expected, because, Force help her, she did like him. Her words to Solo were not a lie and she knew that she could not abandon him, just as she couldn’t leave him on Ra’imar, but she also knew rescue was not an option either, not with the amount of armour that Vader would have surrounding him.

That left just one option for her and with it her own fate would be sealed.

ooOOoo

 

to be continued.....


	14. Absolute Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Vader has his long over due chat with Luke Skywalker, while Leia starts gathering evidence to defend her friend in a legal system that works on the presumption of guilty until proved innocent. 
> 
> Meanwhile the Alliance takes some action and Rhovan finds himself transferred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply for this story.

 

 

 

**Absolute**

**Part 6**

 

The boy’s terror flashed through the Force.

Luke instinctively drew back, stumbled back only to collide with Vader’s bulk as the Dark Lord moved in behind him blocking him, leaving him with only one way to go: into the interrogation cell.

“No!”

Luke’s denial was torn, shredded, and Vader could feel his disbelief, his collapse as he was faced with the scene he had been freed from on Escaal.

He struggled against them, fought hard, the adrenalin rush quashing his pain. He dug his feet into the floor, trying to jerk his arms free, but the guards kicked out the back of his knees, dragging him down the steps.

Velaptor lifted the water and Luke was thrown into the chair.

The door slammed shut, closing off the shouted objections from the Horaarns as they reacted to Luke’s protests. Vader would placate them later.

“Let me go!” Luke was yelling: crying, cursing as he pulled on the restraints, all pretence of being in control gone.

Vader closed his eyes, reached out into the Force and touched his son’s emotions…

They were wild, tortuous, shifting and swinging violently as Luke fought to make sense of what was happening. He was lost in the fugue and fog of a flashback, broken by being placed in the same situation he had been rescued from several weeks ago… lost in memories of trauma, of the evacuation on Ra’imar, the battle over Cusrean and the deaths that bloodied his hands.

There was anger: such a fury, the flames of rage stealing all rational thought.

Anger competing with panic, with fear, with terror of the pain Luke believed was to come...

_No…_

_Not the pain…_

Luke was afraid of the pain, but it was not that which caused his anguish.

Vader smiled beneath his mask. His son was terrified of breaking, of betraying his friends, of betraying the Princess and his beloved Alliance.

The boy suddenly bolted forward, pitched himself up and out of the chair, but Vader was there to meet him, to block him once more. The guards caught him and threw him down again, tugging at his binders freeing one of his wrists to only to drag his arms around and behind the back of the chair to refasten the cuffs.

Screaming with frustration, Luke wrenched loose, his sweat slicked skin slipping in the guards’ grasps. He flung out his arms crying out, sending out a blast through the Force. The guards were thrown sideways, Velaptor backwards and Vader staggered under the strength of the push, pulling up his own shields to deflect his son’s power.

He smiled. Luke was strong. The boy was using only a fraction of his potential and he was powerful. Vader could not allow this to continue, lest Luke damage himself. The youth had to learn control and not react purely on instinct. The Dark Lord allowed his anger to rise, feeling the heat of his rage build.

Luke took a lurching step and Vader caught him by the throat, held him. His son wrestled against his grip, clutching and pulling at the gloved hands, trying to break free.

“Enough!” Vader commanded, putting the weight of the Force behind his words. His fingers tightened and he lifted Luke from the floor. It was more of a message, a warning. Vader had no intentions of harming Luke, but Luke would know his place.

Vader’s voice, the threatening pressure of his hand, cut through the haze surrounding Luke’s mind. It sliced through the churning emotions and, blue eyes dark and wild, body trembling with exertion the boy glanced up at him. He whooped in a breath.

“Please…”

And Vader was unsure if Luke was pleading for his life, or for death.

“Sit down,” Vader growled, dropping Luke back into the chair. Fresh blood was swelling through the dressing on the boy’s shoulder. He would have the injury reassessed once Luke was calmer.

Luke slumped, sagged in the chair, unable to fight on, his strength gone.

Velaptor and the guards picked themselves up and Luke’s arms were taken again, brought behind the chair, the cuffs refastened around his wrists and fixed to the base of the seat. The guards secured Luke’s ankles to the legs of the chair and stood back, stepping aside to wait further orders.

“Leave us,” Vader told them watching Luke closely, listening to his gasping breaths as he fought to bring his emotions back under control.

The guards bowed and stepped out.

“Captain,” Vader rumbled, his eyes not leaving his struggling child. “You, too.”

“My… my Lord,” Velaptor stuttered, confused. “I thought that I…”

“Your work is done,” Vader told him. “Clear your affairs on Horaarn and transfer to my ship. I will have need of your expertise once we have captured all of the Alliance delegation.”

“Leia,” Luke whispered in despair.

Velapor smiled, but Vader paid him no heed. “Thank you, my Lord, I am eager to serve,” he glanced at Luke as the prisoner shook his hair, as sweat dripped from damp strands. “What of our other guest, My Lord?”

And that did draw Vader’s attention. “I trust my point was made and understood.”

“It was made, My Lord,” the Captain assured him. “Although the Major is stubborn and I am unsure how much he understood.”

“Have him taken to the Executor, I will speak with him myself,” Vader finished, turning back to Luke.

Skywalker’s head hung low, chest heaving in air, whispering in pain. “Leia…”

Velaptor performed a perfunctory bow and stepped up from the cell.

The door swept closed and, at last, Vader was alone with his son.

ooOOoo

Major Ehlen Anders watched as the pilots silently trailed into the briefing room. Their faces were dark, grim, and she knew they already had an idea of what was about to be asked of them.

She watched them sit, watched them place their gear on the floor at their feet and studied each one in turn.

Wedge Antilles, dark haired, dark eyed and Skywalker’s closest friend outside of those on the Millennium Falcon. Antilles had been the one who had been the most vocal about defending Skywalker’s actions over Cusrean, the one who took the longest to admit that Luke had initially frozen during the mission.

Derek Klivian, morose and downbeat, he had taken the deaths of the refugees almost as badly as Skywalker. He had ranted about the incompetence of the Alliance Intelligence and was scathing about how Luke had been treated by command since his return from Cusrean. In retrospect Ehlen couldn’t fault him on that.

Wes Jansen, fun loving and the joker of the pack. He’d been quieter of late, subdued, and he had been another reluctant to say anything that could have incriminated his squad second. Anytime she had seen him around the compound of the base he had seemed pre-occupied, his usual bright smile absent.

Torren Ylanec, the youngest at barely seventeen and already gaining a reputation of hotshot pilot with only three sorties under his belt. Some had likened his skills to Antilles and Skywalker and he was fast becoming a firm member of the squad. This child too, looked worn down by the events of the last few weeks.

All four of them had been reprimanded and sanctioned for being accessories after the fact for helping remove and conceal Skywalker after he had struck Major Rhovan…

Not that the man hadn’t deserved it.

… and were now on restricted privileges. However, here they were about to lay their lives on the line once more for a cause that they still fervently believed in. Or, she mused, perhaps it was more to do with their wish to save their comrade from the four walls of yet another Imperial prison cell that drove them this time.

After all Luke would do no less for them.

She glanced at their Commander, Arhul Narra. Stalwart of the Rebellion, role model and hard task master for his young squad. He was their leader, their mentor. Where he went his squad followed and that was usually right to the forefront of the action. A clever tactician, a skilled pilot who often despaired at the youth of his men and who repeatedly stated that he had never seen such a talented collection of pilots assembled in one squad – even if they were a bunch of rogues, but he always said it with a smile.

There were only five of the squad left after the heavy losses at Cusrean. Reinforcements were yet to reach Ardralii and she was about to brief them on a mission that could potentially be the death of them all.

Just like every mission, every sortie, they flew on.

Ehlen pulled herself to her feet and activated the holo, the lights dimmed and a map of the Horaarn system appeared before them.

“Gentleman,” she began, shooting a glance at Rieekan who nodded to her to continue, “the Horaarn system. I am sure that you are aware of the events that have taken place on Horaarn in the last few hours and our delegation have found themselves in grave danger.

Unfortunately, the system is in lockdown and no communications are making it on, or off, the planet. All inbound ships are either being held outside an exclusion zone encircling the planet or are being diverted. Most of the information we have is from the holonet.”

She took a breath, noticing the facial expressions of the squad hadn’t changed. She wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know. “What we have learned, however, is that the ships of Vader’s Death Squadron have regrouped in the Garnib system. We are attempting to find out why and if the regrouping is related to the events on Horaarn.”

She paused, looked at the spinning holo of Horaarn. “Although I believe that it most probably is. Which could make your mission that much more difficult.”

“Pardon me, Major?” Wedge Antilles was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, looking at her intently. “We’re here to get Luke and the Princess out. Just tell us how we’re going to do that.”

Rieekan stood, his face grim. “Major Rhovan…”

There were murmurs and curses from the pilots and it took Commander Narra to placate them by ordering them to “can it” so that Rieekan could continue.

“…has already been sent in. He is tasked with securing Lieutenant Commander Skywalker. Captain Solo, Chewbacca, Sergeant Da’amalan and Private Haslam were all in the Princess’ delegation and every one of them has proven to be creative and resourceful.” Rieekan took in a breath. “We are certain that they will have their own plans and contingencies for getting everyone out.

“Your part will be to defend and provide escort when they make their move.”

There was silence as the pilots digested this.

Klivian scoffed. “So, no ground strike team?”

Anders stepped forward. “Any transport that tries to enter the exclusion zone will be shot down. Even if a team could make planet fall they would find themselves out-manned and out-gunned. Remember the Horaarns have a strong sense of justice. They will fight to ensure that justice is seen to be done and they have now been supplemented by troopers from Vader’s Five-Oh-First.

“We do not know where Lieutenant Commander Skywalker is being held, we do not know where the Princess Leia is, or even where the Falcon landed. All we know is that they are in the capital city, Rhuin. There are too many unknowns and we cannot send a team in blind.”

Rieekan stepped forward. “The freighter _Victory’s Flight_ is currently in orbit around Ardralii. You are to rendezvous with her and dock your fighters. She will take you to Horaarn under the guise of a merchant ship and take up a place just outside of the exclusion zone. It is your task to monitor the holonet coverage and then to intercept and defend the Millennium Falcon as it leaves the surface of Horaarn.

Then you bug out home.”

“So, there are no guarantees that Luke will make it out.” It wasn’t a question, Antilles voice was grim, his eyes dark.

“There are no guarantees that anyone will make it out,” Anders told him.

Jansen smiled grimly and picked up his helmet. “When do we leave?”

“Now,” Rieekan told them. “We are cutting this tight as it is.”

ooOOoo

Leia threw herself back in the chair staring in angry despair at the tiny hologram as it flickered and died on the desk before her. She gave a cry of frustration, fisting her hand and punching the desk top, ignoring the pain that shot up through her arm.

This was useless! These self-serving, self-preserving, arrogant, “…echuta Kung!” she spat in Huttese not remembering if it was Luke or Han she had learned the obscene curse from. She drew in a breath, trying to calm the heat of rage, of fear, of anguish.

They were going to lose Luke.

Not one of the advocates contacted would represent Luke. Not one was willing to hear her out, and her pleas for assistance and promises of remuneration had fallen on deaf ears, fallen against duracrete walls of refusal.

_“I am sorry, Highness, I cannot take this case. If I were to represent Skywalker I would lose my other clients.”_

_“This is not a case I feel that my office would care to handle.”_

The best one was the last one.

_“Are you mad?”_

Leia wiped her hands across her face, rubbed at her tired eyes. She was exhausted from arguing and pleading, from the emotional hammering of the day and from the late hour. She no longer knew what to do, or where to turn, to get legal assistance for her friend. She had asked Artoo to learn what he could of the set up and what rights Luke would have with regards to legal representation only to learn that he had no rights and that an advocate to handle an Appeal for Innocence was arranged by the convicted themselves or by their family.

There was no automatic right to a lawyer on Horaarn.

Luke was on his own.

“No,” she said aloud. No, he wasn’t on his own. He had her: he had Han and the others.

How many hours had passed? How many hours did they have left to build a case for an appeal for innocence?

_“Yes, I knew.”_

Luke’s voice, heavy with guilt.

How do you appeal for innocence when an admission of guilt had already been made?

Pushing her chair back, Leia picked up one of the data pads from the jumbled pile on the desk top and scrolled through the information it contained. It was her evidence from the committee hearing and she knew it practically word for word but still she read through it trying to find anything that she could use to build a case for Luke.

There was the information they had gathered from the spy net, the confirmation of the orbiting stations status as a biological warfare research facility, the warning of the weaponising of the Felucian Necrosis. The mission parameters, the testimony of the rest of the squad and their assertion that Luke warned them that the station wasn’t the danger.

If only she could have brought the squad themselves: a witness rather than words on a datapad could have more sway.

“You Highness,” See-Threepio approached her, “would you care for anything? It is very late and…”

“No, thank you, Threepio,” Leia tried to keep the bite from her voice. It wasn’t the droid's fault she was feeling strung out and he and Artoo had…

Artoo! She was an idiot not to think of it before! She had the best witness in the apartment with her.

“Artoo?” she called, standing up and striding across the living area to where the little droid was still plugged into the city’s central computer. “Artoo, do you still retain the memory records of the Cusrean battle?”

The little droid twittered, it sounded positive to her but she still looked to Threepio for a translation.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the protocol droid told her.

“Can you play the recording?”

A little bloop, and Leia sensed reluctance from Artoo.

Threepio shuffled his feet. “Artoo says that those memories are classified and that General Rieekan has ordered that…”

“I am a member of the Alliance War Cabinet and I have the highest clearance,” Leia warned, crouching down beside, Artoo. She softened her voice as though addressing a child, understanding how protective of Luke Artoo could be. “Just the cockpit voice recording, please, Artoo. It could help Luke.”

There was a muted beep, obedience and Leia drew herself to her feet.

There was a burst of static then…

_“Artoo, three minutes to reversion.”_ Luke’s voice, sounding strong and confident. Then he cursed. _“Shit.”_

Leia crossed to the nearest couch and sat down as she listened, ready to catch anything that could assist her with Luke’s appeal of innocence and his defence against Vader’s extradition request.

There was an enquiry from Artoo, to which Luke responded with. _“I’ll be fine, Artoo, Just some unwanted memories.”_

Already she had something. _Unwanted memories._

Could this be Escaal he had been referring too? Was his mind on the mission, or on his trauma? Could she use this?

In the court room he had clearly told her he didn’t want to go there, that he had no wish for the events on Escaal to be used. He had sounded angry, dismayed by her suggestion, but why? Because he felt embarrassed that he had not been handling the experience well, or because he felt he deserved the punishment?

Leia feared it was the latter.

Luke may not want her to do this, but Leia felt she had no other choice, no other alternative should Thecla be unsuccessful in securing her friend’s rescue.

From the recording she could hear Luke drag in a heavy breath of air. She had seen him doing this in the past, recognised one of his habits when he was trying to remain calm.

_“Artoo, bring the weapons on line and arm the torpedoes.”_

He sounded calmer, sounded more in control, more like the seasoned pilot. “ _One minute, buddy… Everything reads green. Thirty seconds. Okay, Artoo bring us out.”_

Leia listened as the squad ran through their call signs on reversion from lightspeed.

_“Form up, lock S-foils in attack position!”_ Narra’s voice. Strong and commanding _. “We are going in hot Red flight and coming back out the same way. Accelerate to full attack speed and maintain comm silence until we reach the marker point. May the Force be with us.”_

For the next few moments there was silence on the recording apart from the cockpit noises, the muted whine of the engines and Luke’s breathing; sounding faster, heavier and she could imagine his adrenalin beginning to flow, his heart beginning to race as he prepared for battle.

Then, suddenly Narra’s voice again. “ _Break, break, break! Hit ‘em hard and get out, Red Flight!”_

Leia could feel her own heart rate increase as she listened and she was taken by surprise at how early in the mission it happened.

_“A couple of shots and she’s all yours, Luke.”_ That sounded like Antilles.

There was silence in reply, just the sounds of Luke’s quick breathing.

_“Luke? You with us?”_ Antilles again, sounding concerned, sounding pumped.

_“No!”_ Luke’s cry sounded horrified, desperate. _“Commander this is a mistake. There’s something not right here!”_

Leia sat upright, suddenly on edge, listening intently.

_“What? What the hell, Skywalker?”_ That was Narra.

_“The station’s not the danger here!”_ He sounded so sure, but torn, frantic.

This was it, this was when Luke realised that their target was not legitimate, that there was only innocent beings on board – so why had he still fired?

It was then she heard the whoops and yells of the other pilots and she could imagine each one taking out their own targets.

_“Pay back’s a bitch!”_

_“This one’s for Ra’iamar!”_

There was a cry from Luke, as though he was in physical pain.

_“Skywalker! What the frig...”_ Narra again, shouting, angry.

Leia stood, paced to the little droid. “What happened there, Artoo?”

Threepio translated the little astro mech’s series of whistles. “Oh dear, Master Luke drew his fighter up and away… out of the attack run.”

He didn’t shoot on the station. On the initial attack run he had pulled up refused to shoot. Leia smiled, she could use this. She could play this as part of his appeal; use the droid’s records to show the court that his intentions were not to attack.

_“TIEs!”_ The warning shout brought her back to the battle.

_“We’ve got bogies, coming in point five-oh, twelve of them. Looks like Interceptors.”_ That sounded like Antilles, cool and collected in the heat an approaching fight.

_“Shit! Shit!”_ A younger voice, female. Leia didn’t recognise the pilot. _“More coming in point two. A lot!”_

_“It’s an attack wing! This was a trap!”_ Luke’s voice had risen in pitch, driven by adrenalin.

_“We’ve still got a job to do here. Red Five take another run at the station, Two and Four back him up.”_ The Commander’s orders were clear, then he must have taken a hit for the comm crackled and Narra cursed, his own voice now reflecting their situation. _“Shit! Shields down by ten per cent!”_

_“Sir!”_ Luke burst, arguing. _“The station’s not a threat...”_

_“That a Gods-be-damned order, Skywalker!”_

An order. Was that it? Was this the moment that Luke threw caution aside and ignored his feelings, his knowledge?

Sometimes they forgot how little of the Force Luke understood. How he had only had a few hours training from General Kenobi. He wore that lightsaber, could do some amusing tricks that he had taught himself: like floating a stylus through the air when bored at meetings, like parrying the tiny lasers fired from a remote, or knowing when something wasn’t quite right and they would hear his well-used warning, _“I have a bad feeling about this.”_

He used it for any and all situations from dropping into a planetary system and just knowing something wasn’t right, to warning Han about his Sabacc hand. She smiled, Luke had been banned from playing Sabacc with the squad.

The recording was clear: Luke was under orders. He had little recourse but to follow them. She could explain to the court about his previous infraction, the reprimand on his record for not obeying a direct order. A case could be made that he had feared another hearing, a more severe reprimand.

_“Luke! Wake up!”_ Wedge was screaming now, tearing her attention back to the recording. _“We’re gonna get pulverized!”_

Leia closed her eyes, easily imagining the fight, images of her past experiences of being in the cockpit of a fighter flowing to mind. She listened as the battle intensified. There were screams, futile pleas for help, cries of dying pilots, shouted orders and announcements of those who died.

On the recording Artoo shrieked, there was a distinct sound, a rattling and bouncing, and Leia knew from Luke’s fast breathing and whispered curses that he had just had a lucky escape. His guns opened fire.

There was a human shriek over the comm, more shouts, more pleas…

_“They’re all over me!”_

Then Wedge warned. _“Luke! Interceptor on your back!”_

Despite knowing that Luke had returned to base unharmed, Leia listened with baited breath as he tried to shake off the Imperial Fighter. It was a one-sided staccato conversation, punctuated by moments of frenetic breathing.

_“Shit! He’s got a lock. Wedge, I... Artoo! Counter measures! Shit!... Hold on tight, Artoo!... I’m hit, I’m hit... What the hell?.... Artoo, damage report?”_

_“Luke, are you all right?”_ Wedge wanted to know.

_“I’m fine, I... must have been a dud.”_ He sounded relieved, perplexed and troubled. “ _Where is he? Where’d he go? Wedge, Janson do you see Vader?”_

Vader? Did he think Vader had been his pursuer? Why had he thought that? How had he known that?

The Force?

Could he sense when the Emperor’s enforcer was near? And could Vader sense Luke? It was an unsettling thought… Vader no longer needed a tracker on a ship to find them. He had Luke.

_He had Luke…_

She shook herself from her sobering notion. It was grossly unfair to Luke to think this way.

_“Vader?”_ the comm crackled as Antilles spoke, obviously as perplexed as Leia, questioning Luke. _“How’d you know..?”_

There was no time for an answer to Wedge’s questioned as Nara warned of another wave of enemy fighters and, as Luke cursed, Leia rose to pace the floor as she listened.

_“Antilles, take out the reactor!”_ Narra ordered, his voice tight. _“Skywalker bug out and return to base.”_

There was a moment of quiet from Luke, the sounds of his guns firing and then, _“Negative, Commander, I’m fine. I can do this.”_

Leia stopped pacing and stood at her desk. This was it, this was when Luke had made his decision, but why? Why had he gone from refusing to shoot, from warning Narra, to suddenly sticking to orders?

What was it that had made him change his mind? There was nothing on the recording that she could use to understand other than Narra’s order to Antillies and for Luke to return to the base.

Was that it: the final stressor in a sequence of stressful events? Escaal, the Ra’imar evacuation, his hearing and reprimand, and now a battle in which his friends were being decimated around him because of his own hesitation, because he had felt something was wrong?

Or was it something else?

Was it the order to go home, the humiliation of a glaring failure as Antilles fulfilled the objective instead of him, of facing yet another reprimand for disobedience?

Or was it everything, all of it, coming together into a single minute, a crescendo of quiet in the centre of the storm that had become Luke Skywalker?

_“Wedge, Hobbie, form up. Let’s do this and go home.”_

Luke sounded cool and collected, sounded more in control than he had since she had been reunited with him on Ardrali. He sounded like a season pilot, sounded more like the Luke she had come to know in these last few years as he had gone from naïve farmboy to experienced veteran of war... and yet she felt uneasy, felt uncomfortable, felt as though something had been terribly wrong with Luke in that moment.

The sound of the torpedoes firing filled the room and Leia closed her eyes, bowed her head, knowing she was listening to twenty thousand people dying.

_“Yeeeha!!”_ Wedge shrieked. “ _Direct hit, Luke! Welcome back!”_

And then Leia chilled, her body freezing at the sound that came from Luke.

He was laughing.

ooOOoo

He had waited a long time for this moment. He had waited over two years for this moment, waited since he had first realised that the boy who had screamed a denial on the Death Star when he had cut down Kenobi and the pilot who destroyed the Space Station were the same person. The few brief minutes he had spent in his son’s company on Escaal did not count. Luke had been barely conscious, drugged, beaten and mercilessly tortured for days. There had been too many others in the room for him to truly get a measure of his son, to really gauge his child’s strengths and weaknesses.

His son.

There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wished his son to know and understand. There was an entire galaxy waiting for Luke to take up his rightful place by this father’s side and…

Vader reigned in his impatience, he had to tread carefully, could not allow his impulsiveness to overshadow sense. Skywalker was a Rebel officer, a traitor to the Empire: radicalised, fanatical and passionate about his cause. He was the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, had aided and abetted with the Alliance to cause chaos in the galaxy, he was the pilot who had destroyed the Cusrean Station and whom Palpatine had vowed, publically, to bring to justice.

Luke was also damaged. Emotionally and mentally brittle from his experiences of the last few weeks: that cell on Escaal, acknowledging that every life he took at Cusrean was an innocent. Vader had no wish to see Luke broken further, had no wish to shatter whatever was left of his son’s psyche. However, despite that wish, he knew that might be Luke’s fate. It might be the only way to break the hold the Jedi and the Alliance had over his son.

And so he’d had his son brought to this room and presented with the same scenario as Escaal. Luke had to understand what he faced should he not capitulate and renounce his Rebellion.

Vader forced himself to wait until Skywalker was quiet, until his harsh breathing subsided. The boy’s body was trembling, shuddering with uncontrollable shivers caused by shock, fright and fear. His head remained down. His hair, lank and damp with sweat, hid his face. Blood was swelling from his shoulder, spreading deep crimson across the white dressing, beginning to seep out and trickle down his arm and chest, darkly staining the prison shirt he wore.

The Dark Lord walked around the prisoner, keeping silent, intensifying the tension in the room. He saw that Luke’s wrists, bound behind his back and fastened to the chair, were badly bruised, abraded and bleeding, but still he worried the skin against the unyielding cuffs. Luke would have to learn not to struggle, not to fight against him.

_Like his father eventually learned?_

Vader threw off the errant thought, and motioned with his hand toward the durasteel line hanging from the ceiling as he came around to stand in front of his prisoner.

A familiar, soft, ratchet sound drew Luke’s attention, dragging him from the buzzing drone of his head, the disarrayed jumble that were his thoughts and feelings. He stiffened, unable to halt the small moan from escaping his lips as he waited for Vader to fasten his wrists to the line, waited to be dragged off his feet and left dangling, open and vulnerable to torture. He closed his eyes, fought to control his feelings, fought to ignore the appalling situation he found himself in again, fought against the memories of the pain and agony of Imperial interrogation.

_Can’t do this…_

_“_ _Then help me, Luke. Help the Network! Tell me about Wedge! Who is he?"_

He wasn’t sure if the voice was in his head, or if Dade…

… no, that was wrong, not Dade. Rhovan…

… was in the room with him. Hadn’t he seen the man, hadn’t he seen the uniform?

Where was he?

_“You told us, Luke.”_

Eyes still shut, he squeezed them tighter, trying to force away his memories, trying to force away the presence of the man in the room with him, trying desperately not to think of the agonies to come.

“No… Didn’t tell…” Was that in his head, or had he spoken aloud?

“ _You gave us_ home _, Luke…”_

_Home… I gave them home… I.._

He smiled, the movement creasing the healing scar on his cheek. “Tatooine…” he whispered. He had tricked them, withheld against them, given them nothing.

Frowning with concern at the smile and the whispers, afraid his son’s grasp of reality was slipping once more, Vader reached out with the Force, tentatively brushing against Luke’s thoughts. They were difficult to grasp, phrases and names, jumbled images jumping from one to another before each could form into a whole, but he understood the feelings Luke was broadcasting: terror of what this room, what the line and the waiting spherical droid, represented. However, Vader had no such plans for Luke… for now. Pain may be as necessary for Luke’s journey into Darkness as it had been for his own but, for now, a different approach was required.

“Luke,” he said with a little nudge of the Force behind his son’s name. The timbre of his voice was deep, slicing into the boy’s thoughts, opening his son’s eyes and bringing them upward to meet the eye lenses of his mask. It was the first time he had called Luke by his given name, and his use of it, the familiarity of it, sent curls of confusion through the younger man.

The line in front of Luke rose and withdrew into the ceiling.

Luke felt no relief, no respite as the corded durasteel rope disappeared; he knew it could drop down again at any time. He also knew Vader didn’t need such tools to interrogate captives.

Looking down Vader asked, “Are you in pain?”

Luke dropped his head at the unexpected question; he looked away from the Dark Lord, looked to the floor, saw dry blood drops caught on the grating. Why would Vader be concerned about his pain? Why would…

_"You're in a lot of pain.”_

Rhovan… Dade… had said similar. Had feigned concern for his wellbeing, had offered him medication for his back pain. It was had been a ruse, designed to trick him into speaking, into talking. He wouldn’t fall for it this time.

His son’s initial confusion at the question was clear through the Force. Then he felt Luke’s understanding, sensed the boy’s comprehension of the situation and his resolve not to be tricked. It was the wrong conclusion Luke had drawn this time, but he could not fault his son his thoughts, his misunderstanding. However, it did, once again, highlight an area where Luke would need guidance. The boy was too open, too easy to read - in time he would have to teach his son how to shield his thoughts, how to hide and control his feelings.

Or else Palpatine would use them to control him.

“Are you in pain?” he repeated.

Skywalker’s head moved to the side, fighting the compulsion to look up, not deigning to answer, falling into the role of captured Rebel, maintaining silence where silence was not required.

Vader stood before him, looking down on the hunched form on the chair. “It is a simple question,” he explained, not hiding his anger at being ignored, allowing it to stress his words, warning the Rebel pilot with its tones, “with a simple answer.”

Luke tried to swallowed, choked and coughed on a dry throat. He was in pain. The local anaesthetic was wearing off, his shoulder was searing with heat and he could feel warm blood trickle down his skin. His wrists throbbed, the skin chafing against the metal of the cuffs. His throat was tight, parched and sore, and he wasn’t sure if this was because of his shouting, or a result of the pressure of Vader’s hand when he had grasped his throat.

He stared at the drying blood drops on the floor beneath where the line had hung. His blood? Someone else’s? Had someone else been in here before him, had someone else suffered what he had suffered? The thought saddened him, angered him; it was another stark reminder of the purpose of the room.

Luke closed his eyes again, shook his head, refusing to answer Vader. He took in another shuddering breath as he reached for the Force, desperate to get this over with, desperate to find some way to cope with being thrown into a black cell with his father’s killer.

And his anger flashed at that thought.

He was at the mercy of his father’s murderer once more. The man who had betrayed his father…

_“It was not I who betrayed your father.”_

… and had then denied it. He would not give Vader the satisfaction of an answer.

Still silence, a small shake of the head. Vader could sense his son’s defiance strengthen with each passing moment as he reached impulsively for the Force, as he fumbled to find an anchor on which to hold, a strength that would carry him through his ordeal. There was a quiet anger, a small flicker of a flame of hate. Vader smiled beneath the mask and stepped back putting some space between himself and Luke.

Luke would answer him. Vader said one word. “Droid...”

The hovering interrogation droid turned toward the prisoner, its servo motor whining, throbbing as it neared.

Luke gagged in revulsion at the sound, stomach involuntary heaving against the horror he was facing. He tugged impulsively, helplessly at the cuffs on his limbs. “No…” he whispered, raggedly, staring at the floor, the word slipping over his lips before he could stop it, hating himself, hating his weakness, but unable to silence the plea. “Please… don’t.”

“…stand down,” Vader finished, with a smile.

The droid moved away and disappeared into a nook in the wall, a panel of durasteel sliding closed after it.

Again there was no relief. Luke could almost feel the Dark Lord’s amusement, could sense the satisfaction that he had fallen for the ruse. He knew he had just been played, knew that Vader had used his past experiences against him. He knew he had to be stronger, knew that he could not allow Escaal to dictate what was happening with him at this moment, even if he did want to curl up, hide away and play dead like he used to do as a child when Fixer bullied him back on Tatooine.

“Are you in Pain?” Vader asked once more.

Luke chewed the inside of his cheek, bit down on his tongue, willing himself to remain silent. He swallowed again, tasted blood. He refused to look up at the man standing over him, recalling his words from a few hours earlier when he had boldly told the Dark Lord he had nothing to say to him. To speak now, to admit otherwise was humbling and Luke knew this was what Vader wanted. This was the conversation Vader had promised all those weeks ago on Escaal, this is where it would all begin again.

Knowing that he had little choice, and that if he wanted to conserve his energy and strength for later, he had to give his enemy a response now, he grudgingly forced out, “..yes...,” His voice was hoarse, husky, dry. “My… my wrists… shoulder.”

Vader nodded, pleased by the response. “I shall have a medic brought to you.”

Luke refused to thank him, confused by the offer and too afraid of the questions that might follow. He knew the droid could be called out at any time.

Silence crawled within the cell. The cadence of Vader’s regulated respiration slicing through the quiet and Luke found his own breathing falling in with the steady rhythm. He coughed, trying to break the tempo, the synchronisation.

It was Vader who broke the quiet. “It will be easier for you, if you co-operate.”

“I’ll never… co-operate with you,” Luke stated, his answer a quick retort, fired by anger.

“The outcome of the hearing is inevitable; you will leave Horaarn with me.”

“You won’t win,” Luke denied him, his words hopeful and sure. Han, Leia and the others were still out there and he knew they would be pulling out all the stops to drag him out of this mess. He knew Thecla was still out in the city somewhere. They wouldn’t give up on him.

As if on cue, Vader added. “Your friends cannot help you. There is no-one who can help you, this time.”

Luke recognised the dig. Rhovan had pulled him out on Escaal, Thecla and Haslam had come to his aid on Ra’imar and Artoo had pulled the tracker off his X-Wing at Cusrean just in time for him to escape.

Luke smiled, almost laughed, as he realised something. Each of the three times he had escaped Vader, Artoo Detoo had been with him in one capacity or another. That little droid was the best lucky charm anyone could have… and he was on Horaarn. Maybe there was some hope yet?

Vader frowned behind his mask, sensing humour from his son. It was… unexpected and with it he felt a little more of his son’s strength and resistance return.

Again Vader felt the surge of pride that he had felt those many weeks ago as Luke held out against his torture and pain, as he had reached into the Force, into himself and had found the courage to fight on.

“There is no escape, Skywalker,” he added dampening down his errant feelings for his son. Luke was a Rebel, a traitor and, for now, was to be treated as such. “It will be simpler if you accept your fate.”

Luke shook his head. “I won’t make this easy for you.” He could appeal his conviction, he could fight the extradition. Leia would help him. They could drag it out for as long as possible. That would give Han and the others time to work on a plan to get him out. The Alliance wouldn’t leave him here, wouldn’t abandon him…

Would they?

Vader could feel Luke’s desperation, could feel the direction of his thoughts. “Then you only make it harder for yourself,” he told him coldly, his threat implicit. He reached out, took Luke’s chin. The boy twisted his head, trying to pull away, but he clamped his fingers into the soft flesh of his cheeks and angled Luke’s face upward.

Luke’s eyes darted away, refusing to look at the mask of the Darth Lord. He didn’t want to see his reflection in the dark lenses, didn’t want to see what they had reduced him to. His head was turned and he knew the Dark Lord was studying the cut and the bruising from his altercation with Rhovan.

“I am told you are facing Court Martial for attacking a superior officer...” Vader brushed his thumb over the cut, the boy hissed his discomfort as a piece of scab came away on the leather glove, blood spots welled from the wound and lightly trickled down his face. “It would seem your Alliance isn’t quite sure what to do with you.”

Luke didn’t reply, couldn’t reply with Vader’s hand locked on his chin, he swallowed thickly, breathing heavily through his nose. Vader had to have got that information from the Horaarns, they knew he had been under arrest by the Alliance, knew he had a security escort.

“Your actions at Cusrean have damaged the Alliance and yet the Lady Mothma seems reluctant to renounce you…”

He paused to allow his words to sink in, for Luke to grasp the meaning of them. He felt Luke’s flare of relief at the news his friends were still behind him. “Nine systems have withdrawn their support; still more are waiting on the Alliance to make a statement on the battle and your conduct during it. Your friends have been quiet: neither condemning nor endorsing you. Personnel and supplies are being lost by the hour. The very future of the Rebellion is in doubt.”

Luke was dismayed by Vader’s words. Although he knew that Leia and Mon Mothma had been locked in talks with supporting systems in the days following the attack, he was horrified that the Alliance could be losing so much because of him, because of his actions. Somehow hearing it from Vader, from his enemy, made it all seem more real.

Could it be true? Could it be as bad as Vader said? Had he irrevocably harmed the Rebellion by what he had done, by his confession? He hadn’t really thought of it before, hadn’t given consideration to how the greater organisation could suffer because of the behaviour of one member. How could he have been so blind not to see?

He had been selfish, too wrapped up in his own suffering to think of anything else, too haunted to understand the full consequences of his actions.

What had he done?

It wasn’t just the innocent lives lost at Cusrean. It was the Rebellion; it was the fight against the Empire itself that could be lost… because of him.

“And still they cling to their Jedi…”

Luke wrenched his neck violently, twisting his head away from Vader. The Dark Lord released him, stepped back.

“I am not a Jedi…” Luke ground out, angrily working his jaw, working out the after-feel of Vader’s fingers on his skin.

“No, you are not,” the Dark Lord agreed. “If you had been, you would not have fired upon the refugees; you would not have allowed your hatred of me to guide your hands, you would not have allowed your pride…”

“No!” Luke protested, loudly, sitting straight for the first time, grimacing at the pain from his shoulder. Vader was twisting what happened, it had nothing to do with pride. “It wasn’t like that…”

_Wasn’t it?_

“Then what was it like? Why did you destroy the Cusrean station?” Vader demanded.

Luke licked his lips, his mouth dry, heart hammering, head buzzing. He knew he shouldn’t answer; he knew he should sit quiet and not give the Dark Lord what he wanted. He forced out the easiest answer. “It… was our target.”

“That is not why you destroyed it,” Vader countered, there was a warning in his tone, a hint that he would tolerate no avoidance.

“I was under orders,” Luke tried again, his voice grating, his teeth clenched, hostile.

“Again, that is not why you destroyed it,” Vader pushed, walking around his son once more, placing pressure on him by his words and movements, knowing that Luke was dodging the truth.

_When the flames arose, I felt pleasure…_

They had both felt it.

During the battle the Dark Side had edged close to Luke, had taken gleeful delight in his conflict and fanned his anger and despair. It had shrouded his thinking, had twisted rational thought until Luke’s bitter resentment had simmered to a head.

Luke had been neglected by the Jedi. His training was pitiful; his understanding of the Force negligible and Vader knew that his son’s knowledge of the Dark Side was woefully incomplete. The boy did not even know the danger he was in, couldn’t see how insidious and guileful the Dark Side was and how it had guided his actions during the battle when he had given in to his anger and hatred.

_When the flames arose, I felt pleasure…_

Luke had been sickened by the realisation that he had felt good about the station’s destruction and the deaths he had caused, but he had yet to acknowledge exactly why that was.

Vader knew, Vader understood: it was power, it was the Dark Side.

“Why did you destroy the refugee station?”

Letting out a breath, trying to calm his heaving emotions and listening as Vader stepped behind him once more, Luke lifted his head to stare at the blank, bland door of the cell, images and sounds from the battle replaying in his head. He could hear the screams of his squad mates as they died… as they died because of his hesitation.

Red Twelve, Triani. Petite, brunette, pretty, young. He could still hear her scream as she died.

“My squad,” he tried again, the guilt of their deaths weighing heavily. “They were dying and I…”

“A factor,” Vader interrupted with frustration, watching as his son’s body tensed in the chair, his darkly-bruised wrists agitating against the restraining cuffs. “But not the reason you pulled the trigger. Why did you destroy the station?”

“Because of you,” Luke threw at him, his anger rising at the persistent question, voice bitter with loathing. “Because you were there…”

“Again a factor,” Vader barked, leaning down close, mask and helmet at the side of Luke’s head. Luke flinched, body jolting as Vader hissed in his ear “Why did you destroy the station?”

Luke hung his head, looked away to the corner of the room away from the Dark Lord. This was intolerable, unbearable. He didn’t want to relive this. He didn’t want these images, these memories. He could feel the Dark Lord at his back, the man’s presence overwhelming, demanding answers that he couldn’t give him.

_“Antilles, take out the reactor…”_

Narra’s order. His commander had been furious, disappointed in his squad second and had given away his target to Wedge.

“If I had hadn’t taken the shot, Wedge would have…” Luke caught himself too late, again he had mentioned Antilles.

Vader rose up to his full height, once more towering over the shackled boy. “Why did _you_ destroy the station?”

Why had he destroyed the station? Why had he gone against his instincts as they screamed that the orbiting space station was no threat, no danger and held only innocent beings?

“Why did you destroy the station?”

Flashes of images, of feelings. The squad being decimated around him. Narra ordering him home. Burning humiliation. The knowledge of Vader being out there, the need to humble the Dark Lord. The need to be back in the squad, the need to be whole again.

There had been only one thing he could do. Only one thing to prove he was ready. Just one thing stood between him and…

No! Luke desperately pushed the thought away. It hadn’t been like that, it hadn’t…

“Why did you destroy the station?” Vader demanded, loudly. Pushing, pressing, giving no respite or escape. “There were thousands of lives on board, families evacuated from a dying planet.”

Head down, Luke pressed his eyes closed, tried to shift in the seat. “Please…”

“You felt them! Innocent beings, blown apart. Children scattered across cold space. Why did you destroy the station?”

_…a little girl frozen in space bumping against a ship’s shields and tumbling away…_

“No…” he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Why, Luke?” Vader barked, hands landing on his son’s shoulders. Luke cried out in pain, struggled, fought against his bonds to pull away but the Dark Lord roughly held him. He stooped down, his head level with Luke’s, faces centimetres apart. “Why did you destroy the station?”

And Luke roared his rage, his pain, his raw anguish into Vader’s mask. “It was in my way!”

ooOOoo

It could have been the heat of battle, Leia surmised. It could have been the cry of relief that he had done what they had come to do, that they could now break off and go home.

Leia knew Luke’s laughter; she knew the different sounds and tones he made when he found something funny, when he was amused and pleased. The giggling when he was drunk, the chuckle of delight at a successful practical joke, the roars of laughter at Han’s dirty jokes that would have him fighting for a breath as he threw back his head and held his belly in uncontrolled joyfulness.

This sound was something she had never heard before, this laugh didn’t sound like Luke. It sounded harsh, it sounded malicious and the hair on the back of Leia’s neck prickled with discomfort.

It sounded wrong.

Luke had known there was no danger from the space station. He had known there was no threat and that it held only innocent people and still he had fired upon it and destroyed them all and then he had… laughed.

He had taken joy from the explosion, he had…

No!

The Princess drew herself to her feet. She was over thinking this, she was wrong about this. Luke was distraught by what had happened, by what he had done. He had stood alone in that court room, devastated, cowed by his guilt. There wasn’t a callous bone in his body. Luke was one of the most good-natured, caring men she had ever met. He simply wasn’t capable of such a heartless act.

So what had she heard?

Leia glanced over at the little droid, the voices of the remaining squad members disappearing, leaving Luke alone to shake off the tracker and the chasing Imperials. “Artoo… stop the recording.”

Silence fell over the room.

She couldn’t use this; she couldn’t allow this to be heard by the Horaarns or by the Empire. Luke was already in trouble and this would only seal his fate. If she could misinterpret what had happened, if she was chilled by the sound that had come from Luke then for the court to hear it, for strangers who didn’t know Luke to hear it, would surely condemn him

They were going to lose Luke.

“Dammit!” She whirled around, sweeping the data-pads from the desk top scattering them to the floor with a clatter as Artoo twittered in the background.

“Oh my, Your Highness?” Threepio exclaimed.

Swallowing her temper the Princess reassured the protocol droid. “I’m all right, Threepio.”

Although Luke wasn’t…

Luke might never be all right ever again. In a few hours Luke could be awaiting execution by the Horaarns or, if Vader’s extradition was successful, he could be sitting in yet another cell, this time one on Vader’s ship. She couldn’t help but feel responsible: it was she who had listened to her friend tell of his unhappiness at his grounding after Escaal and she who acted on it by volunteering him for the Cusrean mission.

He had seemed so happy before he left for Cusrean, he had seemed like Luke again when he had beamed that smile of his in her direction and told her that Solo would be returning soon.

And after… after when she had held him and walk with him to his room he had been empty, bereft of what made him Luke. He had been quiet, subdued, sullen and angry. She hadn’t seen much of him after that, they had been kept apart by the volcanic ash fall, by her negotiations with Alliance systems, but she had heard worrying snippets from around the base about his drinking with Han and with his squad, about his nightmares, how withdrawn he had become and ultimately about his attack on Major Rhovan.

Seeing him back on Adralii, lying sleeping in the holding cell with Han, his face cut and bruised, but at peace had warmed her somehow, calmed her. His demeanour during the journey to Horaarn was surprisingly good; he had appeared calm, joining in the banter with Han and the soldiers. He was rational and good humoured as though he had made a start at dealing with his demons.

And now this… now those demons were being dragged back before him and presented to him by the devil himself.

“No, Your Highness,” Threepio told her anxiously. “Artoo has picked up a transmission. The First Minister is on his way here with a security detail.”

Leia hadn’t thought her heart could sink any lower, but it did. A security detail could only mean one thing. She was to be expelled from Horaarn, which would leave Luke alone to face his fate.

“How long before he gets here?”

After another twittered for Artoo, Threepio told her. “He’s in the turbo lift now, Your Highness.”

Leia swore under her breath, lifted her comlink. “Get Han, now!”

Artoo connected her immediately. She didn’t waste time, didn’t wait for him to reply. She spoke quickly, “We’re going silent,” and cut the connection, before doing the same with the Sergeant who was still hiding out in the city.

“Artoo, unplug… get away from the terminal,” Leia ordered.

The little droid gave a burst of chatter, he sounded frantic.

“Oh my! Your Highness, he says that it will take a few minutes to close down all the links into the city he has made so that he leaves no trail and…”

Another explosion of electronic noise and the little droid began to shake.

“What?” Leia exclaimed, knowing that time was running short and that First Minister Teratan would be at her door anytime now.

“Oh no!” For a droid Threepio was cannily talented at conveying emotion. This was horror. “Princess, he says that as he has been shutting down the links he has discovered a trail in his own data banks and that information has been copied and downloaded…”

And now horror rattled through Leia. Artoo had never had memory wipe, at least none that she knew of, since she had placed the Death Star plans into his keeping. The little droid knew many Alliance secrets and held intelligence on many aspects of the rebellion, including all of Luke’s missions. “What data?” But she knew, she knew exactly what had been taken from Artoo, after all it was the one thing that she had sought.

“Master Luke’s cockpit recording,” Threepio confirmed her fears. “Artoo says that he didn’t notice it at first as an authorisation code was hidden within the data links.”

“Authorisation code?” Leia echoed, who could have access to Artoo’s codes?

“Yes, Your Highness, an older code, one belonging to an previous master of his and…”

_Previous master?_

“What? Who…?”

There was a chime from the doorway and the panelling vibrated as a fist hammered against it from outside. This mysterious previous owner of Artoo’s and what he wanted from Luke’s cockpit recording would have to wait; she had more urgent matters to contend with.

“Artoo sever all the links now, and move away from the terminal.” It didn’t matter now, Artoo didn’t need to hide his tracks. It seems that they had known for a while what they were doing and had taken advantage of it.

ooOOoo

“We’re going silent!”

The comm cut out into static and Han reached across the console and switched it off. He leaned back into his chair, stared out at the snow covered landing platform, at the thick flakes that continued to fall silently to the ground.

He was helpless, impotent, good as useless stuck out here on the Falcon waiting for Leia, Thecla and Luke to make a move and now they had lost their only source of contact.

It was as frustrating as hell.

“Now what?”

Han jerked his head, looked up and back at the soldier standing behind him. Haslam’s face was set, jaw solid. Grief and worry were etched into the large man’s features, and Han suddenly realised the depth of feeling the man had for his non-com. It appeared that Luke had some competition for Sergeant Da’amalan’s affections and he now understood Haslam’s antipathy toward the kid, for it was Luke who was winning hands down without even realising it.

However, the infantry man had asked a very good question.

What was their next move? They had been pinned pretty well by the Horaarns and the Empire. Out manoeuvred and held at different locations as Vader moved his own pieces in around Luke.

What was so important about the kid?

Sure there was the Death Star, but Luke hadn’t acted alone, he’d had help. There was that hokey Force shit that the old man had filled the kid’s head with and Vader was known to believe in it, too.

Han grimaced, that couldn’t be it, could it?

Leia’s quick warning told him that they had been discovered. It had been inevitable the minute they found the lock-breaker on Luke that the Horaarns would make a move on Leia and expel her.

Which would be the best scenario they could hope for. If luck didn’t hold, and Han had to admit that luck didn’t appear to favour them on Horaaran, then Leia could end up in the cell next to Luke.

No… he dismissed the idea immediately. If there was something he had learned from this debacle it was that the Horaaran’s had respect for the law, no matter how warped its concepts seemed on this planet. They would respect Leia’s diplomatic status, he had no doubt about that, however that would probably mean her expulsion and Luke being left alone to face the full weight of the Horaarn’s criminal proceedings.

In a matter of hours the kid could be facing a painful death, or back in Imperial hands.

“Has Chewie run the diagnostics on the guns?” he asked Haslam, really just to have something to say, something to take his mind off the kid’s fate and his own inability, his helplessness, to do anything at all but wait for something to happen, wait for an opportunity to present itself.

“Yes, Sir,” the soldier responded. “They are all in working order and fully charged.”

“Good, I have a feeling we’ll need them!” Han reclined back, put his feet up on the console. “Wake me when the Princess gets here.”

Haslam waited, but the Corellian put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

“That’s it?” Haslam rasped. “We wait for the Princess and what….. leave? What about the Sarge? What about Skywalker?”

“They’re on their own, Private,” Han told him, opening one eye. “There’s nothing we can do for them. When Leia gets back…”

“I ain’t leavin the Sarge to…”

Han could hear the bluster in the man’s voice, heard the same impotent anger that he also felt. “You can do whatever you like, Soldier, I ain’t stopping you…”

There was a soft growl from behind them.

“…. But Chewie might.”

Han sat back up, glanced up at his co-pilot as Chewbacca pushed past the younger man to take up his chair in the cockpit.

“Listen, Haslam, we don’t like this anymore than you. That’s my friend out there, too, but you need to be real about this. Luke’s sitting in a cell in some prison with Vader babysitting him. Thecla’s sitting it out somewhere in that snow storm surrounded by Horaaran security and troopers. We’ve lost contact with them all and Leia’s about to be kicked off planet along with rest of us.

“We’re fenced in by cannons, troopers and surveillance systems that are probably back on line and if we make one move to get off this platform either on the Falcon or on foot they’ll shoot us down. Then we’re no good to Luke, the Princess or Thecla. Now, what is it exactly that you think we should be doing?”

“Anything other than just sitting around,” Haslam protested, sullenly.

That struck a chord. It was what he had said to Luke on the Death Star after the Old Man had left them in the hanger bay control room. Could it only have been two years ago? He felt like a different man.

“Trust me,” Han told him, having sympathy for the Alliance solder, knowing in his heart it was how he felt, too. “Luke’s a smart kid, Thecla seems to know what she’s doing, if anyone is going to find a solution to this, it’s them.”

Haslam glanced at the waiting Wookiee and was smart enough not to reply, but Han could see the derision and disbelief in his eyes. The Rebel soldier turned and left the cockpit.

As the door closed Han glanced at his friend. “Got any bright ideas?”

Chewbacca leaned across, laid a massive paw on Han’s shoulder and grunted softly. The simple gesture telling so much.

“Yeah, I know… me, too, Chewie.”

ooOOoo

The silence in the cell was broken only by Vader’s cycling respirator and Luke’s softly whispered denials against his own admission. As soon as he had shouted the confession, as soon as it had passed his lips, Luke’s eyes had flared with horror, understanding at once what he had said, what he had disclosed and what it meant for him: what it meant in terms of his pending court appearance, what it meant in terms of the type of person he was becoming.

The Cusrean station had been an obstacle in his way and he had felt joy when it was gone, had felt the resonance of the Dark Side of the Force as he felt it now.

The boy’s horror and devastation was like a wash of power through the Force, dark waves breaking and battering against the crumbling shields the youth was instinctively trying to erect around him. Luke’s head had dropped; he seemed to shrink into the chair he was fastened to, heavy tears dripped onto his thighs staining the cloth of his pants. Thin mucus ran from his nose.

Vader drew himself to his full height and stood mutely for several minutes, watching his son cry, watching as Luke was wracked with guilt and grief, body shivering. He had had a similar moment of clarity. He had marched with the clones into the Jedi temple and cut down all he found, regardless of age, gender or species. He had travelled to Mustafar and ended the war when he slaughtered the Separatists leadership. Then he had stood on the walkway of the installation looking out across the volcanic landscape as the enormity of what he had done had crashed upon him.

He had cried, too, he had grieved for those he had murdered, had grieved for himself for he knew that there was no going back and that he was becoming something other than Anakin Skywalker.

_Sympathy, My Lord?_

Vader chilled at the inner voice that sound so much like his master. He hesitated, reached out, and found Sidious’s attention turned elsewhere. He lingered on his master’s presence, confused by the Emperor’s silence and yet wary of the Emperor’s designs.

He drew away, focused on his son. He was not finished with Luke yet.

“Obi-Wan was a fool not to train you,” the Dark Lord finally stated, his derision and hatred of the Jedi Master scoring his words. He knew he would get a reaction from Luke.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Vader’s words tore through the heavy veil of self-pity and shame and a rough anger flashed through Luke, images from the Death Star docking bay flooding through him. The smells of fighter fuel, of body odour, of the rancid stench that still clenched to his clothes from his dip in the trash compactor. The sight of Obi-Wan standing tall, glancing his way and lifting his lightsaber in capitulation and of Vader brutally cutting him down.

“He… didn’t get the opportunity to train me…” his was voice was hoarse, roughened by emotion. He jerked forward, was caught by the cuffs and the shackles, “…you killed him!” The last was a snarl, tears still marked his face, still ran.

“His death was long overdue,” Vader told him, ruthlessly, not giving Luke an inch, not allowing him rest or succour. “Kenobi should have died when he betrayed your father.”

Luke shook his head, sweat dripping from the loose strands of his hair. “You’re lying… You betrayed my father, you killed him!”

There was a creak of leather as Vader closed his fists and Luke tensed waiting for the blow to land across his face as it had on Escaal.

Vader took a step forward, seeing his son stiffen in anticipation of a reprisal. He was so close. This was an opportunity to say it now, just to say the words to Luke and reveal their relationship. It would be so easy just say it now…

_I am your father…._

… he glanced up at the surveillance cameras, looked down at his child and knew that it was the wrong moment. Luke would never accept it; the boy’s mental and emotional state was too vulnerable, too unstable. He still had a court hearing to attend, still had a journey to Imperial Centre to endure and others may be watching.

To call Luke 'son' now might destroy him. To reveal their relationship may make Luke more of a target than he was now. It could undermine everything he was attempting here, make his extradition request into what is really was; a father claiming his son and the Horaarns sense of justice would not allow that.

_You could still take him; you could decimate this place and just take him._

No… That was not an option. That would be against his master’s plans to damage and undermine the Rebellion. To remove Luke by force, to invade Horaarn would only strengthen the Alliance and the support they had lost would scurry back to them.

“Obi-Wan always did like his points of view,” Vader stated, pushing away temptation. For the first time since Luke’s torn admission the boy raised his head and looked him in the eye, not understanding, not grasping the undertones of regret in Vader’s voice.

Vader himself didn’t understand; he regretted nothing.

_…Liar…_

He threw off the errant thought.

“It was not I who left your father to burn,” Vader informed him, his rage, his hatred of Obi-Wan re-surfacing to drive his bitter words.

“Burn…” Luke echoed, horror roiling through him. His father had burned and again Vader was implying that it had been Ben who was at fault.

_“He betrayed and murdered your father.”_

“You’re lying…” Luke rasped again, not believing, denying the insinuation. “Ben said… Obi-Wan said…”

“Enough about Obi-Wan!” Vader roared, temper surging, frustrated by Luke’s constant rejection of the truth, by his son’s loyalty to his dead Jedi Master. His arm automatically pulled back to deliver a brutal blow.

Luke ducked his head, tucked his chin in, and tensed.

It never came. Instead the Dark Lord took a step backward, his arm falling to his side, his fist unclenching with a creak of leather.

Again there was silence in the cell; again it was Vader who broke it.

“Do you play Dejarik?”

The question, so incongruous to the setting, completely threw Luke. He couldn’t help but glance up at the towering Dark Lord, couldn’t stop the incredulousness from pitching his voice. “What?”

Had he heard right? Had the Emperor’s enforcer just asked him about a board game? What was happening here?

“Dejarik, or chess,” Vader replied with, Luke thought, with a hint of humour in his voice. “Are you familiar with the games?”

Confused, Luke could only answer with, “Yes, I’ve played them.”

“Then you are familiar with the concept of an Absolute Pin?”

Luke’s mind raced, baffled by the quick change of mood in the Dark Lord. Only moments ago the man had been enraged and now… this? It was hard to keep up; it was hard to know what happening.

He shook his head, a shiver running through his body. He sniffed, wanting to be able to wipe his face, wanting to wipe away his drying tears and snot, wanting to wash away all visible signs of his weakness.

What did Dejarik have to do with this situation?

An Absolute Pin?

An Absolute Pin was where a key piece, in chess a Royal piece, was shielded from a check by a pinned piece. The pinned piece couldn’t move as it would leave the Royal piece in check and…

Royal…

A freezing chill swept through him.

Leia!

This wasn’t about him after all! How could he have been so arrogant for all these weeks? He had thought Vader wanted him, solely him.

He had thought Vader had come to Escaal just for him, had razed the base on Ra’imar for him, but Vader had only been chasing him to get to Leia! How could he not have seen it before?

This was about Leia, a leader of the Rebellion, a key figure in the command structure, one who had escaped the Dark Lord’s grasp before. He had already felt the Dark Lord’s intentions towards her, towards Han and the others. He had tried to warn her in the court room.

Vader had orchestrated all of this, had him removed to this cell, had Han left on the landing platform with Thecla and Haslam leaving Leia alone and vulnerable.

They were to be picked off one by one.

Panic stirred within: not for himself, but for Leia.

“Leia,” he said, her name voicing all of his fears. It didn’t matter what happened to him now, if only Leia could be spared. “This is about Leia?”

Vader had watched as Luke considered his question. He could see the boy’s puzzlement at the change of topic, could see and feel the confusion give way to cold realisation and shame as the focus shifted from his fear for himself, to fear for his Princess – just as Vader had thought it would.

His son was too predictable.

“No,” Vader told him, callously, “it is about you. Your friends are important to the Empire, but next to you they mean nothing.”

Luke gagged, nausea rising as he understood. Vader intended on using his friends against him – even though he could not fathom why.

_You are the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, that’s why…_

“Why?” he asked. He had to hear it from Vader. He had to know once and for all what was so important about him, why Vader had made such efforts to capture him. “Because of the Death Star?”

“No,” he was told. “Because you are Anakin Skywalker’s son.”

And Luke was thrown back to his debriefing, sitting in that chair when he was questioned by the Alliance about Escaal and Ra’imar while Rhovan was at his back.

_“I’m the pilot who destroyed the Death Star. I’m the son of Anakin Skywalker. Vader was there for me.”_

He had been right!

His friends were in danger, were being threatened because of him, because of who his father had been. He couldn’t let this happen, he couldn’t allow Leia to suffer again, couldn’t put her back into an Imperial cell, couldn’t condemn Han or Chewie, couldn’t see anyone suffer because of him.

It was better if it was only him…

Vader turned away toward the cell door before he said anymore. It slashed opened and he stepped up into the corridor to be met by two detention centre guards. “Have the prisoner taken to a holding cell, treat his injuries again and ensure he has some nourishment.” He glanced back into the fetid room as Luke jerked and pulled against his bonds once more.

“Wait!” Luke called desperately, as the guards stepped down into the room with him.

Vader took a step forward, away from the open portal.

Luke pulled against the metal around his wrists ignoring the pain he caused himself, “Ah… wait! I’ll do what you want! I won’t fight… I’ll…”

Vader stopped, turned back around to look down at his frantic son.

“…I’ll not fight the extradition. You can have me! Just… leave Leia…”

“You would willingly surrender yourself to me to save your friends?” Vader demanded to know, dampening down on the stirring elation that twisted within.

_Not willingly, never willingly… but for Leia… anything._

Warm blood, fresh blood, from the knife wound trickled down his arm. Luke stared at the Dark Lord as he answered. He was committed; he was prepared to face whatever the future held.

For Leia, for Han. “Yes.”

Vader nodded as victory crowed within.

The cell door slammed down between them.

He had his son.

ooOOoo

Thecla had closed the comlink down, and had sat for the last while staring blankly at the small device in her hand. Despite the warmth in the basement, despite the various bar snacks she had filled her belly with, she felt cold and empty. The communication between herself, the Princess and Solo had been her only link, her company, her support.

She was still sitting on the floor, wrapped in the tarpaulin, waiting for her clothes to finish drying. The sweet stench of the sewer still clung to the fabric and she wasn’t looking forward to putting them back on. She closed her fists around the comlink, rested her chin upon her hands.

Only one option left.

Just one.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” she whispered softly to the silence of the room. “We could have been good.”

Decision made, she quickly dialled in different frequency to the comlink and waited for it to be answered.

“Yes,” a voice barked.

Thecla hesitated, licked her lips and then committed herself. “I need to come in.”

ooOOoo

“Let them in, Threepio,” Leia ordered, her dark eyes focusing solely on the door, her thoughts dragged away from Luke’s plight by her own predicament.

“Princess, do you think that wise,” Threepio fussed, and Leia knew that had he been capable of the action that the droid would be wringing his hands with anxiety. “I don…”

“Just…,” she snapped and then she closed her eyes in resignation and softened her voice. “… let them in.”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” he muttered as he walked over to release the door lock.

Leia leaned against the desk, standing amongst the datapads still scattered on the floor at her feet and took a deep breath forcing herself calm, bringing down her façade of Royal politician to face First Minister Teraten.

The door to the suite slid open and the First Minister swept in followed by two armed Horaarn security personnel. Leia stiffened her back and pushed off the desk to stand tall, aware that she was still a good few feet shorter than the man approaching her with a face like a Dug that had chewed a fire-wasp.

“First Minister,” she greeted sternly, coldly, “this is an unexpected…”

Teraten wasted no time. “I believe this is yours, Your Highness!” His voice was low, angry. He held out a small object and dropped it into her open palm.

Leia’s fingers closed around the lock-breaker she had given Luke. “Did you really expect us just to accept what was happening, First Minister?” She was not going to apologise for this.

“I expected that the Alliance would respect our laws, our ways,” Teraten barked, his eyes flashing. “I did not expect that the Princess of Alderaan would abuse her diplomatic status.”

“And I did not expect that the Horaarns would throw in with the Empire!” Leia ground out, equally as angry. “I did not expect that my friend would be sitting injured in an Imperial cell after a sham of an enquiry, convicted of murder and waiting a death sentence or extradition into Imperial custody!”

“I can assure you, Princess that the Horaarns value our independence too much to throw in with anyone. As for Skywalker…”

“You brought us here under false pretences,” Leia’s broke in, voice low, almost a whisper, so determined that she would not lose herself to her rage. “This was orchestrated by Vader, wasn’t it?”

She saw the man blanch, noticed the minute hesitation and knew she right.

Teraten shook his head in denial. “That is a ridiculous accusation! Lord Vader is here as a representative of the Cusrean Government and People with a valid application for Skywalker’s extradition. If the evidence presented by his Lordship can show sufficient evidence to believe that Skywalker committed a crime in the Cusrean sector…”

Leia laughed, the sound dry and angry, incredulous. “A crime you have already convicted him off! An _alleged_ offence that did not happen in Horaarn space and yet you have…”

“He confessed, your Highness!” Teraten reminded her. “The treaty between Horaarn and Cusrean systems allows for crimes committed in either sectors to be…”

“Vader orchestrated this!” Leia accused again. “You have allowed him to manipulate you. You have allowed him to use your treaties and judicial systems to suite his own ends.”

“What ends, your Highness? It seems to me that Lord Vader merely wishes for Skywalker to be brought to justice just as the Emperor promised the peoples of Cusrean and the Empire.”

“And the stormtroopers on your streets, Teraten?” Leia asked, wondering how the man could be so blind. “Do you really believe that they will leave when Vader does?”

“Lord Vader has given me assurances that his only interest is in Skywalker…”

Leia considered him, silently, coldly. “Then you are a fool, Teraten and you have condemned your planet to Imperial Rule.”

Another flash of uncertainty crossed the First Minister’s face, but it was quickly quashed and Leia knew her arguments were falling on deaf ears... or the ears of a frightened man.

“If that is all, First Minister,” she tried to dismiss him, but she knew it wasn’t. She knew the armed soldiers were not here as just an escort for Teraten. “I have to ask you to leave and allow me time to…”

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” Teraten interrupted, seeing the scattered datapads of the floor for the first time, the clear desk behind the Princess and Leia knew he had understood the significance of the mess. He knew she was desperate and she hated that he had seen the evidence of her weak position, the evidence of her hopelessness.

He frowned, looked to Leia, hardened his expression and his voice. “I’m afraid your breach of protocol cannot go unanswered. I am here to instruct you that the People's Parliament of Horaarn withdraw their diplomatic invitation and hereby command you to leave our planet… immediately.”

Leia had known this could be the result of her actions, but still her stomach churned with anxiety: not for herself, not for the Alliance, but for her friend who would now be left to face his fate alone. “First Minister, I…”

“You have one standard hour to pack, the soldiers here will ensure your safe passage to your ship.”

“Teraten, please…” Leia took a step forward. Hand out to grab his sleeve, she stopped herself closed her fist in frustration, knowing she had lost. “Luke needs someone with him. I have evidence to support him. I have a valid argument for his defence and against the extradition request. Please… you must allow me to help him.”

What evidence? She looked down at the data pads on the floor, recalled the chilling laugh from the flight recorder. What could she possibly use to call her friend’s confession into doubt? Desperation gnawed at her, rushing consternation blocking her thoughts, making it hard to form ideas.

“I am sorry, your Highness, the decision stands. You will leave Horaarn.” He turned on his heel.

“Teraten, wait! You say you were a friend of my father’s!” Leia could hear the despair in her voice. “You must have once shared his beliefs, his values. You served in the Republic… leaving a man alone without representation, without the means to argue a defence is completely against what you once believed in.”

The First Minister glanced back. “This is not the Republic, Princess.” He sounded sad, resigned.

“No,” Leia agreed coldly. “It is the Empire.”

The First Minister stopped, turned around. He regarded her quietly, his tongue nervously licking his lips before he spoke. “We are not the Empire… not yet.” He looked beaten, he looked like a man who knew he was going to lose everything. “You say you have evidence to support the Convicted?”

Leia felt a flicker of hope and her eyes glanced briefly to Artoo, in that instance it all fell into place; she knew what she had to do for Luke, whether he liked it or not. “Yes.”

“Then I will arrange for you to present the evidence at the hearing…”

“Thank you, First…”

“… from your ship.”

“My ship? Teraten, Luke needs…”

“Your ship is not considered Horaarn soil, your Highness,” Teraten explained, sounding sad, sounding resigned. “I will ensure that a suitable holographic system is delivered and installed to enable you to present your evidence at the Hearing. It is the best I can do.”

It wasn’t what she wanted, it wasn’t what Luke needed, but it would have to suffice. She was lucky to have this concession. “Thank you, First Minister.”

The Horaarn Leader looked around the apartment before meeting Leia’s eyes. “You still have one hour, your Highness.

ooOOoo

Luke sat crossed legged on the floor grating of the cell, back resting against the side of the sleeping platform, ignoring the discomfort of the sharp metal grill beneath him as it pressed into his flesh. On the floor in front of him was a plate of food and an empty plastic cup. The food and water had arrived just as the medic finished re-dressing his wrists, and shoulder.

The man had encouraged him to eat, to drink the water, reminding him he needed sustenance and that Lord Vader had ordered he be fed.

Luke didn’t give a damn what the Dark Lord wanted and, although he had drank the water, he had pushed the plate of bread, cheese and fruits away and refused to touch it or look at it again.

He felt nauseated at the thought of eating and the last thing he wanted to do was vomit.

No, that wasn’t true. The last thing he wanted to do was be here, facing whatever Vader and the Horaarns were planning for him…

_“I’ll do what you want.”_

… even if he had agreed to it.

He lifted his head, surveyed the rough grey walls, the steps up to the doorway and the ceiling high above him. The corners were hidden in shadow, too high for the dull amber light that bled up through the floor to reach.

He was sure there were surveillance cameras hidden in the darkness, probably one in each corner watching his every move and he failed to see what could possibly be so interesting about watching a prisoner sitting in a cell.

He coughed, rubbed at his throat, still trying to work out the feel of Vader’s fingers from around the neck. He was sure he was bruised.

Not that it mattered.

Frowning he looked down at his bandaged wrists, he could feel the bacta infused into the dressings beneath beginning to heal his injuries. His wrists tingled, itched, as they healed. It was the same with his shoulder where the vibroblade had sliced through skin and muscle. None of his wounds were particularly painful and, although he couldn’t remember, he was sure that at some point the medic treating him had injected him with a pain killer and, for that, he was grateful. However, he wondered why Vader had ordered he be given medical attention when he was facing so much worse than a pair of binders once his sentencing and extradition hearing was over.

No, that wasn’t true. He didn’t wonder, he knew. The hearing. Vader needed him cared for and healthy, needed him neatly presented to maintain the façade of a just Empire. That would change, that care would crumble and fall away once he was on Vader’s ship, incarcerated in Vader’s brig.

His head dropped into his hands, despair washing through him.

_I can’t do this… I can’t do this again._

But he would. He had to. He had agreed. For Leia. For Han. For the Rebellion.

Vader was right. In one act he had damaged the Alliance, he had sullied their reputation by massacring thousands with one torpedo.

_You massacred millions with one torpedo, too._

But this time it was civilians, refugees fleeing a dying world.

_“And still they cling to their Jedi.”_

If Vader was to be believed, the Alliance was losing support, was losing personnel and equipment, supplies and backing, because of him, because of what he had done and yet they had not distanced themselves from him, they had not condemned him.

It warmed him that the Alliance still had his back. It humbled him that, although he was sitting alone in this cell, he was not really alone .

_Yeah… just like on Escaal. You weren’t alone then either and look what happened…_

_Dade was the Rebellion, Dade was the resistance…_

_Dade who was Rhovan and had been in the cell with him all the time, tormenting him, torturing him._

His hand wandered to the healing cut on his cheek, shaking fingers tracing the rough scab, the result of a datapad striking his face when Rhovan had backhanded him. The memory was hazy, like a vaguely remembered dream.

Unlike the memory of Rhovan standing at the door of his room on Adralii after he had returned his lightsaber. The Major’s face was passive, uncaring.

_“I would do it again…”_

Cold, hard, brutal, truth.

Except it wasn’t Rhovan who was doing it again… it was him. It was he alone who was facing the pain and the humiliation.

There would be no Rhovan this time… only Vader. The Alliance may have his back out there… but not in here.

Not in here…

In here he truly was alone.

Again he looked up at the corners, at the cameras, knowing that Vader was watching him. He could feel it. He could feel the man’s seeping darkness, his sinister curiosity, his…

He smiled, recalling the time when he, Biggs, Windy and Deak had drank too much cheap beer and danced around in front of the new security cameras Fixer had fitted at Tosche Station after the last break-in. He choked back a laugh at the memory of the drunken dance the four of them had performed for Fixer’s amusement before Windy took it too far and mooned at the camera shouting for Fixer to “take a look at my beggar’s canyon!”

That had cracked them all up and they had lost it, falling to the sand and shrieking with laughter at the innuendo that had brought an enraged Fixer bursting out of the building and chasing Windy across the sands with a hydrospanner, screaming threats at the younger boy about shoving the spanner _“straight up_ _your beggar’s canyon, you little echuta sleemo!”_

Luke coughed again, fighting to control the bubble of hysterical laughter that he felt welling up inside: not because he was afraid of the laughter... it was what was lurking behind the laughter he was afraid off unleashing, and he refused to show it, refused to give the Dark Lord any more satisfaction. He needed to hold it together, he needed to be stronger than this.

For Leia. For the Alliance.

Heaving in a shuddering breath, wiping his face with his hands and knowing how close he had been to collapsing, he stared at the bland durasteel door, forcing his thoughts back to the present. He berated himself for allowing his mind to wander, for losing his concentration, he needed to focus on what was happening now, on how he was going to handle this….

_You’re not handling it…_

… and not allow old habits to intrude and interrupt.

Isn’t that why Uncle Owen despaired of him, because he could never keep his mind on what he was doing? He was always thinking of something else, always allowing his thoughts to wander. Thoughts of the Academy. Thoughts of racing through the stars instead of the Dune Sea or Beggar’s canyon. Thoughts of the hot girl who had walked into Tosche Station when he had been sitting alone and pissed off because he’d arrived late and missed the group. Thoughts of the three days they had spent together making out, and more, in his landspeeder before she had to leave with her father. Thoughts of his own father, his dead father… except that he would imagine it had all been a mistake and that Anakin Skywalker would come for him, rescue him and save him from the boredom of the Farm.

His father…

A man he idolised despite knowing practically nothing about him, having only snippets of information from his Aunt and Uncle. Owen, a man of the sand and soil, usually said things by accident, or to chastise him for a minor infraction.

_“… rushing off… just like your father…”_

_“… pig-headed… just like your father…”_

_“… No consideration or thoughts for the consequences… like your father.”_

His aunt was kinder, was more understanding of his need to know more about his sire.

_“He was like you Luke, handsome and headstrong…”_

_“You’re grandmother often spoke of his talents with machines… you’re a lot like him that respect.”_

_“He liked to fly, fast and wild, your grandmother said. Just like you…”_

_Like me!_

His father had been like him, and he was like his father.

And Vader.

_“Because you are the son of Anakin Skywalker.”_

Is that really why he was here? Is that why he had suffered these last few weeks and months? Because he was his father’s son?

He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palms and took in another breath. Unfolding his legs he brought his knees up, clasped his arms around them and winced at the dig of the floor grating beneath him. He was doing it again, letting his mind wander away from the situation.

How long had he been here? How much time remained before the cell would open again and he would be taken out and paraded before the holonet cameras again?

How long did he have to plan what he was going to do, how he was going to conduct himself?

He had to be strong, he had to hold it together, do better than he had for the committee hearing. He couldn’t let Vader take it all from him…

_… not yet… maybe later… but not yet…_

… he had to show the Dark Lord that, although he had capitulated, the battle wasn’t done.

He was doing this for Leia, for the Alliance and for his friends.

He was…

He couldn’t stop his smile as he realised what his course of action for the Hearing should be, as he realised that, although he would be leaving with Vader, although his own freedom was forfeit Leia’s was not. If he could keep his emotions and mind under control he could take sole blame for Cusrean and leave the Alliance free to distance themselves from him and, if they wished, to condemn him.

                                                                                        ooOOoo

Darth Vader watched the feed from behind the seated Detention Centre personnel. He could feel his son’s twisting and convoluted emotions; the utter despair, the disbelief that he had agreed to go with the Dark Lord, his resolution to see this… whatever this was, whatever this would bring to him, whatever was to be done with him… through. He could also feel the river of hysteria that ran through Luke’s thoughts, a subterranean current of terror and madness that the boy barely held in check. It had almost bubbled to the top, had almost broken free from Luke’s control, almost reached the surface, and he had smiled with pride when Luke’s strength prevailed.

His son’s strength came from the hatred of his father, his sheer will not to give in to the demands placed on him. Untrained and unknowing Luke had no way to see, or feel, the insidious crawl of the Dark Side as it shadowed his presence and began its slow consumption.

And yet, that smile now, was not of the dark. That smile was one of triumph and he could feel his son’s elation, the firming of his resolve to sacrifice himself for his friends. That smile was of the light and it pushed back the penumbra that had been nearing him.

Luke would soon learn, as his father had before him, a deal with the Dark Side was not always fulfilled and he would fall further into its grasp when he learned his sacrifice had been for nought.

_“…Is she safe… is she all right…”_

Leia Organa, the smuggler, and the Wookiee were Luke’s weakness, just as Padme had been his, and Vader had no intentions of allowing them to escape. They were Luke’s link to the light, they would be used and disposed of and his son would be left alone and bereft and would to turn to the only person with whom he had link.

His father…

_“Anakin, you’re breaking my heart…”_

He growled, angrily, startling the personnel around him. He could see backs stiffening; feel others take a step backward from him.

He dismissed the echo that begged to a dead man. He had not been swayed by her arguments on Mustafar and he would not be swayed by his memories of them now. She had betrayed him, she had turned against him. He should give her no consideration now.

_… even if the boy is her son, too? Even if this is not what she would want for him?_

Enraged with himself he railed against his aberrant thoughts, casting them aside, banishing Anakin’s dead wife from his mind… she had no place here!

There was a grunt from the visual feed from the cell and the Dark Lord watched as Luke, in another act of rebellion stared straight at the security feed and kicked the plate of food further away from him. His toe caught the edge and the platter over turned spilling out the contents onto the floor.

Vader turned to the medic. The man visibly blanching at the anger that radiated from his superior. “If he will not eat, see that he sleeps.”

“At once, My Lord,” the medic bowed and picked up his kit, he nodded to the guards and two followed at his back as he made his way to Luke’s cell.

Vader watched the monitors, his attention solely on Luke. The boy started as the door swept upward. He swallowed, watching warily when the men stepped down into the confined space. Vader could feel the initial surge of panic through the Force as adrenalin swept through Luke. He could see Luke tense, could see the shudders running through his son’s body, could see the boys eyes darting back to the camera’s as though he could see the Dark Lord through them.

The guards remained by the open door way and the medic crouched beside Luke on the floor.

“It’s okay,” the man soothed and Vader knew Luke would see through the man’s false concern. “I’m just checking your dressings.”

Still guarded, Luke allowed the man to check him over, stiffening again when the medic prepared a hypospray and Vader saw him glance at the door, at the guards, and could feel the false hope as Luke fleetingly considered his chances of pushing back the medic, rushing the guards and making it out of the cell. He smiled when Luke crushed the thoughts, realising that he would merely be risking his precious princess’ safety and that he wouldn’t get far anyway, that he would only run straight into the waiting Dark Lord.

The medic smiled, “I’m just topping up your painkiller.”

Still tense, still suspicious, Luke flinched when the medic placed his hand on his head and turned it, bowed it and placed the hypospray against the skin just under his ear. The sensitive audio equipment barely picked up the soft hiss as the sedative was injected into Luke’s body.

The effects were immediate, Luke blinked slowly, grimaced as he futilely fought the drug. “What… did… you…?”

He slumped sideways to the floor and, as the medic packed away his kit and stood, the guards moved in and lifted the limp figure, placing him on the hard sleeping platform. The boy’s head rolled, his jaw fell open and loose, his eyes half open and unfocused and his presence in the Force became mute and quiet. Vader knew it wouldn’t remain so, he knew that as his son’s body metabolised the drug that dreams would come and the Force would burst with images and colour, with sights and sounds and perhaps, just perhaps, Luke would see his destiny and accept it.

ooOOoo

Han stood to the side of the passenger compartment. Leaning against bulkhead, he watched the Horaarn technicians work as they set up a holotransmitter beside the engineering station. He had been reluctant to allow any of them on board to fiddle with Falcon’s systems but he also knew it was the only way that Luke was going to have any chance of representation at his hearing.

He glanced over at Leia sitting behind the dejarik board as she devoured datapad after datapad and conversed quietly with See Threepio and Artoo Detoo utilising whatever information the little droid held in his memory from his foray into the Horaarn’s databanks.

The Horaarn workers would glance up every now and then when Leia questioned the little droid on specific points of law without giving any detail of what she was doing, of what her defence strategy for Luke was.

“I know, Artoo, I know he has no right to representation, but can someone volunteer to represent a convicted person?”

She smiled as Artoo tweeted and burbled and Threepio responded with. “Yes, your Highness, anyone with an education to Higher level and…”

“Artoo compare Alderaanian Educational levels to the Horaarn requirements, is my educational level adequate?”

A whistle.

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Leia grimly smiled and absently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Han thought she looked tired, worn and weary. Han thought she looked gorgeous.

She glanced up at him as though she had heard the thought and Solo found himself uncharacteristically flustered. He gave a lopsided smile and shrugged, rolling his eyes in the Horaarn’s direction.

Leia had arrived with the Technicians and neither she nor Han had had the chance to talk bar a quick terse greeting. The Princess had spent her time since arriving, building up a defence for Luke, but had not yet shared any of it with him for fear of the Horaarn’s overhearing and reporting back to the First Minister or to Vader himself.

Han glanced up when Chewbacca popped his head out of the overhead conduit and grunted.

“Okay, guys,” Han pushed himself from the wall. “Chewie says it’s wired in.”

The Horaarns nodded, whispered among themselves and turned the equipment on. Light flickered on the hologame board and a small representative of the court room appeared on the chequered surface among the scattered datacards.

“Your Highness,” one of the technician’s invited. “If you sit here,” he gestured to the seat beside the engineering station and Leia rose and crossed the room, seating herself as requested. On the hologram of the court a tiny figure appeared at the table for the defence; a hologram of a hologram.

“Thank you, Gentlemen,” Leia acknowledged graciously, ”This will suffice.”

And Han could see the lie, hear the lie. This wasn’t sufficient for Leia. She wanted to be there in person, she wanted to see Luke, be near Luke.

This situation was killing her, the guilt she felt for the kid’s predicament was eating at her from inside. She had responded to Luke’s desire to fly again after Escaal and had volunteered him for the Cusrean mission. Everyone Han had spoken with had said Luke had jumped at the chance, had gone into the battle with all the enthusiasm and zeal that he had always shown, eager to show the Empire they had not broken him on Escaal, only to return from Cusrean fractured and splintered.

And Leia blamed herself. She didn’t see the fault lying with anyone else, couldn’t see the part played by Alliance Command who had agreed with her and over-ruled Luke’s Doctors. She couldn’t see the fault lying with Luke himself for ignoring the advice of those doctors, for refusing to go with him and Chewie for a break. The kid had refused all offers he had made, all advice he had given to just get away and get a fresh look, a fresh perspective on everything that had happened. Luke had been too single minded… it was the Alliance or nothing.

Leia would see it later, she would see and understand it all, everyone’s part in the run up to this situation; the Horaarns, Vader, The Empire, The Alliance, Luke’s and her own decisions and she would be able to apportion blame appropriately, but for now there was just her… and Luke.

He stood to the side watching as the Horaarn workers packed up their gear, as Haslam came sauntering in from the cockpit and as Chewbacca dropped down and replaced the ceiling plate of the conduit.

Chewie saw the Horaarns off the ship and Haslam slipped away again. Han would need to keep an eye on him, he was unpredictable, agitated and worried about his sergeant whose whereabouts remained unknown. Haslam had been none too happy with the line under the Falcon being retracted from the drain leaving Thecla Da’amaalan with no escape route, but they could hardly have left it there with a Horaarn delegation coming on board.

Once alone Han turned toward the Princess, walked to her. “Leia?”

She looked up, dark eyes tired and scared. She rose abruptly and he folded his arms around her and drew her to him. She didn’t resist, she pressed against him, held him tight and rested her head against his chest. She was trembling with fatigue, staying on her feet through sheer will power and stubbornness.

“I can’t lose him,” she whispered, and Han closed his eyes with a pain that Leia could never see, could never know.

“We won’t,” he assured her, fighting to keep the cut of pain that lanced at her words from his voice. She couldn’t lose Luke. “But you need rest, Princess.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, “I need to work out how I’m going to present the case for Luke. He’s not going to like it and I’m worried that…”

There was a twitter of a comlink and the holographic equipment came alive, beaming a single figure onto the dejarik board. It was the First Minister.

“Your Highness…”

Han released her and she straightened her shoulders, held her head high, ever the Princess as she stepped over to the holotransmitter. “First Minister,” she greeted, coolly.

“We have a time for the Convicted’s hearing.”

ooOOoo

Rhovan worried his wrists against the tight bands of cold durasteel that bound his hands together behind his back as he was lead down the shuttle’s ramp into the vast hanger bay and towards the waiting grey-clad officers and white armoured stormtroopers. Ignoring the dull aches of his bruised body, ignoring the stiffness in his back and limbs caused by his muscles seizing every time the droid had sent a powerful charge through him. He walked with his head held high, refusing to give Velaptor the satisfaction of knowing how much he ached.

Sore and weary, disheartened by the knowledge that his mission to get Skywalker out, to get him away from his father, and back to the Rebellion…

_…or eliminate him…_

_…_ had failed before it had even begun.

_“Lord Vader is inbound with Skywalker!”_

Vader already had his son and Rhovan’s thoughts were dragged away from his own predicament, more worried about how the boy was faring, wondering what was happening back down on Horaarn, and if Mothma’s dire predictions would come true if Luke were to discover his parentage.

The Major dragged in a breath, grimacing against the pain of his broken and bruised ribs. He almost faltered, almost fell forward and he forced Skywalker from his thoughts and concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other until his boots stepped onto polished deck plates.

Rhovan had been on enough Star Destroyers to know the one they were now on board was not a standard cruiser. This ship was massive, the sheer size of this immense hanger told him all he needed know. This was the Executor. This was Vader’s command vessel.

This was the ship that Vader had ordered him transferred too so many weeks ago on Escaal when he had argued against Skywalker’s interrogation being interrupted. His worry then had been the Network, the Escaal resistance and how he was supposed to fight the Empire from on-board the Executor.

Now that was the least of his worries.

His guards stopped him before the waiting officers and troopers as Velaptor stepped forward in greeting.

“I am Captain Jofric Velaptor,” he saluted.

“Captain Firmus Piett,” a thin faced man responded to Velaptor, although his eyes were firmly on Rhovan. “Welcome aboard the Executor.”

So, this was Piett, the man who had informed Vader he was approaching Horaarn despite Rhovan giving him his authorisation code. The man who had not identified himself as the ship’s captain and who had called Rhovan “sir,” instead of the other way around.

Velaptor’s eyes darkened at Piett’s inattention, but he said nothing. “I look forward to serving with you, Captain.”

Rhovan stood silent as Piett finished his assessment of him and drew his attention back to Velaptor. “Indeed, Captain,” Piett offered. “The troopers here will escort you to your quarters. You are due on duty in the Brig at oh-seven-hundred ship time.”

Velaptor nodded, stiffly. “I wish to escort Major Rhovan to the brig myself first and…”

Piett gave a thin smile. “I’m afraid Major Rhovan is now in my custody, Lord Vader’s orders were quite specific.”

Velaptor’s mouth turned down in displeasure, but even he seemed to know when to call defeat. It wasn’t wise to argue with orders given by the Dark Lord of the Sith. “Of course,” he gave a little bow of acceptance, drew his eyes off Rhovan and followed two troopers from the hanger bay.

Piett waited, watching Rhovan, until the footsteps receded and the massive door at the end of the hanger slid closed.

Piett smiled. “Welcome aboard, Major Rhovan. I am pleased meet you.”

Rhovan’s eyes narrowed, not quite understanding what was happening. “I wish I could feel the same, sir...” he offered, his voice rough with pain.

If Piett had accepted his authorisation code when he had given it over the comm on his arrival in the Horaarn system he would never have been in this position. It would easy for him to blame Piett for all of his pain for the last few hours but Rhovan knew that, like him, Piett had his duty and had merely carried it out. He also knew that, like him, Piett would do it again in a heartbeat no matter the consequences.

“Hmm,” Piett gestured to the guards who had escorted Rhovan up from the planet’s surface. “Release the Major’s bonds, take the shuttle back to Horaarn and prepare for Skywalker’s transfer.”

Rhovan stiffened at the mention of Vader’s son. He kept his eyes on Piett as he was released from the metal cuffs. Wincing as he brought his hands forward, he gently rubbed at the bruised and broken skin asking, “Perhaps you’d like to tell me what’s going on?”

Piett smiled, thin lips pulling back from white teeth. “Your authorisation code checked out. All warrants for your arrest and detention have been rescinded and your rank and status reinstated.”

“Just like that that?” Rhovan asked, deeply suspicious of this turn of events.

The ship’s captain chuckled. “We live in strange times, do we not, Major?”

“Indeed we do, sir,” Rhovan agreed, gingerly touching his broken nose, still trying to gauge what was happening, feeling that Vader and his Captain were several steps ahead of him. It was a feeling he didn’t like.

Piett looked him up and down, taking in his physical condition. “Can you walk?”

“Depends on how far I have to go,” Rhovan confessed. His back ached, his muscles were stiff and sore, head pounding from repeated blows. It was a wonder he wasn’t concussed.

“Just to the deck above, to the nearest medcentre. We’ll take the turbolift,” Piett offered with a sympathetic smile.

“I think I can make that,” Rhovan agreed, gathering his strength, his courage for taking just the first step forward. He felt like he was about to drop.

“Good!” the ship’s captain, smiled again. “I shall accompany you and see that you are settled. Lord Vader was most implicit with your transfer. He wishes to speak to you as soon as he boards.”

Anxiety twisted in Rhovan’s gut. Vader was the last the person he wished to be in a room with, but he knew it was inevitable after his arrest on Horaarn. “I look forward to meeting Lord Vader again,” he lied as he stepped forward, relieved that he didn’t just crumple to the deck, “although I will admit that I am in the dark as to my duties on board.”

Piett threw him a sideways glance as they slowly made their way from the hanger. “I would have thought that would be obvious, Major. You will be assisting Lord Vader with Skywalker’s questioning once he is secured in the brig.” Another look at the Major, a query when Rhovan remained silent, thoughtful. “Did you not interrogate the Rebel on Escaal?”

“Yes,” Rhovan confirmed, a little breathless, his voice carrying his physical pain. He understood Vader’s reasoning, put Luke back in a cell with the man who had tormented him, put him back on that line with the droid at his back, and the boy would snap. Skywalker would be easier to manipulate, would do anything, would say anything to avoid more pain. He had seen it often enough, had done it himself often enough to others who had resisted the Empire.

But Vader was the boy’s father! What kind of parent tortures and mutilates his own child?

_What kind of man does the same to his own brother?_

A desperate one. One who has more at stake than family and whose brother understood the consequences of Rebellion.

As did Luke Skywalker.

Piett laughed. “Then you will be the last person he wishes to see… especially after everything else that has happened.”

Rhovan stopped, grabbed Piett by the arm, knowing he was breaking protocol and not caring. “What? What has happened?”

Piett looked down at the hand on his uniform, but said nothing. “Haven’t you heard, Major?” he said watching as Rhovan lifted his hand away. “During the Committee Hearing, Skywalker admitted to knowing the Cusrean Station posed no danger and he confessed to destroying it anyway. He was arrested and convicted of murder only to be attacked and injured during his transfer to prison. He is currently under Lord Vader’s protection while awaiting his sentencing and extradition trial.”

Rhovan nodded, releasing Piett’s arm. He was not surprised, had already realised this was Vader’s move when he arrived in the system, nor was he surprised by the knowledge that Luke knew what the station was before he fired upon it; it was something he had already suspected from Skywalker’s mission debriefing with Rieekan and Anders. However, it was Luke’s confession that concerned him most. It sounded like Luke had already broken.

_You broke him on Escaal, you saw him break during the mission debriefing back on Adralii, and he was broken again when he saw the holonet report._

Soon Skywalker would be in so many pieces that it may prove impossible to repair the damage and Rhovan had to wonder what would happen when Luke was told the truth about his parentage. Would the boy rail against it, would he fight it, would he deny his father? Or would he fall, would he accept it and thus bring Mothma’s worries to fruition and become Sith like his father?

“I would like to view any recordings there are of the Committee Hearing.”

Piett laughed again, his hand landing on Rhovan’s shoulder. The Major winced, but allowed the Captain to turn him and they resumed their slow walk. “That won’t be a problem, it was being broadcast live on the holonet at the time. You’ll see the boy condemned himself.”

Rhovan was almost afraid to ask. “Is Lord Vader questioning him?”

Piett smiled, gently laughed. “I believe the Horaarns are anxious that Skywalker appear at court unharmed, however I am sure Lord Vader will no doubt create an opportunity to speak with the Rebel.”

Rhovan nodded silently. He had thought the same. Knew that Vader would waste no time in moving in on his child. What father wouldn’t? If he had a child, if he had lost that child, would he not move the planets and stars to get that child back, just as Vader had?

Quite probably, but Vader’s actions against Luke were brutal, were not those of a father concerned for his son. They were more the actions of a captor to captive, of Imperial Justice against a Rebel, of…

_And yet you did the same to your brother until you silenced him._

He tried to throw the thought aside. Sam was different. Sam knew who his brother was, knew what his sibling had to do to protect the information he carried, to protect the brother he loved from worse treatment, for more intense questioning and…

The realisation made him slow down and he was aware of Piett glancing at him and asking if he required help to make it to the medical centre. He waved off the concern and picked up his pace, stepping into the elevator with the captain, his thoughts racing.

It made sense now.

Vader _was_ protecting Luke. Vader was treating his son as he would treat any other Rebel to protect him from the factions within the Empire who could target Luke or use his son against him if the truth was known. He was not treating Luke as the son of Darth Vader. He was treating him as the son of Anakin Skywalker. He was, quite probably, trying to protect Luke from the Emperor himself.

No, that didn’t add up. Vader had to know that Palpatine already knew, or at least suspected, who Luke was. He had to know that Palpatine had his own agents and spies spread throughout the Galaxy and within the Rebellion itself who were reporting back on the Rebel pilot’s exploits and progress with his Jedi abilities.

And there it was. There was his understanding of Luke’s position. The boy was a prize, a pawn to be played by the two most powerful men in the Galaxy. Luke would be caught between his father and the Emperor, he was the rope in a tug of war to be pulled one way and then the other, caught in an awful situation with awful decisions to make.

_“Did you know?”_

Luke’s voice had been torn and ragged and terribly quiet when he had asked the question. When he had asked Rhovan if he had known what was on the Cusrean Station. The truth was he hadn’t known, he’d had no idea what his intelligence was leading Skywalker and his squad towards.

However, if Luke were to ask him the same question in the future…

_“Did you know?”_

… he would have to say he did, he would have to say he knew and he would have to live with the consequences.

ooOOoo

“One minute to reversion. All pilots to your ships.”

The voice on the overhead tannoy echoed around the hanger of the _Victory’s Flight_ and Wedge glanced up from his cockpit and looked around; all the pilots were with their fighters. All five of them: Narra, Janson, Klivian, Ylanec and himself. They had never left the hanger, preferring to stay with their X-Wings, preferring to tinker with the engines, work on the shielding, the stabilisers, the hyperdrive capacitors, anything to keep their minds off the coming fight.

_Frightened, Antilles?_

No, he wasn’t frightened. He had been through too much to worry about ending up as particles of matter floating through cold space. He was anxious though, eager to get out there and help his friends escape Horaarn, escape whatever it was that Darth Vader had planned for them. The adrenalin was already pumping, already filtering through his system making him impatient for the fight to begin.

A mild shudder ran through the ship, indicating the drop from hyperspace and he turned his attention back to the readouts on his shield display. “A-Three,” he spoke to the Artoo unit in the socket behind him. “I think we can crank up…”

The whistle of a comlink interrupted him and he glanced over at Narra, watching as his commander spoke with the bridge. He was nodding, looking grim and determined as he finished his conversation. “Okay, Red Flight get your asses over here!”

Wedge drew himself from the cockpit and glanced back at his droid, “A-Three, finish up here.”

He jumped to the deck and joined his squad, Narra’s severe look making him even more uneasy.

“We’ve arrived at Horaarn and are settling into a holding pattern. The Executor is out there as thought and the system is being patrolled by TIEs and Interceptors. This is what we expected, this is what we knew we were up against.” He paused, looking around them, his eyes catching Wedge’s.

“Remember as soon as the scanners pick up the Millennium Falcon we drop out to protect them – understood?”

There were nods, determined smiles.

“We don’t know when that’ll be but the bridge is monitoring the holonet. It looks like Luke is still in custody…”

There were murmured curses of concern.

“… but his sentencing and extradition hearing has been scheduled in less than two hours ships time.”

A twist of anxiety for his friend tightened Wedge’s stomach.

“They’re cutting it tight in making their moves…” Narra admitted, seeing the pilots' expressions and Wedge knew he was thinking the same as they all were. Thinking, but not saying.... what if there was no move, what if they were unable to move? The Rebellion could lose them all.

“… but we are here to back them up when they do. To give them time to make the jump and then jump out ourselves.”

“Any word on Death Squadron?” Ylanic asked, referring to Vader’s fleet. The kid was no longer a rookie and he was looking as dogged and resolute as the rest of them.

Narra shook his head. “Nothing yet... but, we still can’t rule out that it’s headed this way.”

Ylanic just nodded, mutely.

“Any more questions?”

There were none and Narra dismissed them to finish up prepping their ships. Wedge trudged back to his X-Wing knowing he had done all he could to ready his ship. She was in top condition, was running straight and true and he knew that all he could do now was sit and wait. Wait for the hearing to begin, wait for the outcome, the fate of his friend, to be announced, wait to be launched into a ferocious battle.

Wait… the fate of the fighter pilot. A long wait and a quick death.

He climbed back into his cockpit, settled down and tapped out an access code into the on board computer. “Okay, A-three, let’s see if we can crank the shields up by another point five…”


	15. Absolute Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of Luke's sentencing and extradition hearing dawns and his fate will be decided as the Galaxy watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply....

 

**Dark Times: Chapter 6**

**Absolute**

**Part 7**

The last light of the day was bleeding away and across the vast city windows began to warmly glow, millions of homes switching on their lights to chase the shadows, all casting out illumination that would eventually create enough light that it would hide the stars.

Except here. Here dusk was preferred; here shadows and darkness were welcomed. Here the light was low, the office shaded, the desk and the robed figure sitting behind it barely lit by the flicker of the holonet screen and the glow cast from the tiny hologram that sat to his right.

Palpatine rested his elbows on the cool polished surface of his desk, the wide sleeves of his robes falling down, revealing thin fleshless arms. He steepled his fingers as he watched the images from the holonet, and listened intently to the commentators as they assessed the events of the coming day Horaarn.

_“... and if we understand Horaarn criminal law the whole hearing can last anywhere between a few minutes to the entire day. There is no recess, no breaks, and there is no reconvening the following day. By the end of the Horaarn day the Rebel pilot, Luke Skywalker...”_

_“I believe they call criminals by the title of The Convicted...”_

_“... the convicted then... will either have been sentenced, most likely a death sentence for such a heinous crime, or he will be extradited to face the justice of his Excellency, The Emperor Palpatine.”_

_“And, his Excellency willing, it will be a just death sentence and one that this act of terrorism fully deserves. If we can just watch these scenes again from Cusrean... and we warn that the pictures you are about to see are graphic and viewer discretion is advised...”_

Palpatine turned away from the screen as edited highlights of the Rebel attack on the refugee station was replayed. It was all state sanctioned of course, the media across the Galaxy whipping up a frenzy of disgust, a collective plea for retribution and revenge after the massacre.

A massacre that Palpatine himself had sanctioned and allowed the Rebellion to commit. That it was the Skywalker brat who pulled the trigger made the outcome all that much sweeter. But, of course, the commentators were wrong: there would be no death sentence for Luke Skywalker, no easy way out, no peaceful rest.

Palpatine had to admit that Vader had mildly surprised him with his determined pursuit of the boy. He had initially thought that when his apprentice had met with his son that he would have found him wanting, would have found him weak and puerile. Untrained and untested and lacking any true substance... He had considered that Vader would simply kill the youth as he had the younglings in the temple and so many innocents after them. Vader was brutal, unstoppable, and utterly obedient – even when thoughts of self-control surfaced, even when the hatred of his master… a man he once admired… rose to eclipse the rage that had sustained him all these years since his fall, he never once failed to obey a given order.

He reached into the heavy cowl and scratched the tip of his nose, smiling.

Perhaps he should have made the order concerning the pilot absolute. Perhaps he should have been clearer about the boy’s fate, explicit. He had told Vader to make an example of the boy and, truth be told, his apprentice was doing just that; just not in the way that Palpatine had expected or intended.

Skywalker had escaped Escaal, aided by one of the Empire’s own… yes, he was looking forward to greeting Major Rhovan in person… and had continued to elude capture as Vader chased him with Anakin Skywalker’s single minded obsession…

_Anakin…_

Palpatine’s lips pursed in annoyance, a flicker of blue briefly running over his hands.

_Anakin…_

Vader still carried many of the Jedi’s traits; he was often impulsive, impatient, rash. He was also unwavering in his pursuit of his goals, focused on an end task, and used whatever means necessary to achieve what he wanted…

_…What his master wanted…_

… but he was as conflicted a being as he had been when he turned to the darkness and Palpatine had never been able to purge him of all of Anakin’s weaknesses.

Not yet…

Vader’s obsession with his son had deepened since that first encounter, intensified, but then he quite suddenly stopped chasing. He had reeled in his frustrations and irritation at the pilot eluding capture each time the snare had tightened around him. Instead he had grasped the opportunity given to him by his master; Cusrean.

Shrewdly, Vader had manipulated the Rebel attack on Cusrean to his own advantage when he had travelled to Horaarn and used the old alliance and treaties between the systems, and the Horaarn criminal system to his own ends. The suggestion of dialogue between Horaarn and the Alliance whom it had long supplied at discounted rates, the demand that Skywalker attend the committee hearing had all been Vader’s recommendation.

And now the day of reckoning had dawned for the boy.

 

Palpatine closed his eyes, drawing the Force about him, immersing himself into the Dark Side, sinking deep into its fluid folds.

Vader was conflicted now, he could feel it. His apprentice had spent time with the boy and now the Force roiled, boiling with anticipation, with swinging shifts and shades of darkness; muted shadowing to pitch black, threatening dawn and darkest night. Vader’s presence was kaleidoscopic, his feelings ever changing; first simmering anger, frustration threatening his tenuous control of his impatience. There was rage, seething and storming within and yet, through it all, was a single thread, binding it all together…

_…Hope…_

… the desire, the need, to have his son. To hold the one thing that he could truly call his.

And Palpatine was going to remove it from Vader and then he would revel in the conflict, in the maelstrom that would follow.

He glanced down at the small hologram, at the tiny figure that waited instruction. “Do it.”

The figure nodded once in acknowledgement as the holo dissolved and Palptine turned his attention back to the holonet.

 

ooOOoo

It had stopped snowing.

The morning was clear and bright, the air cool and crisp, the sky a pale blue with thin wisps of white cloud. If it wasn’t for the chill of the air and the mounds and drifts of snow across the landing pad Han would have thought it was a summer’s day.

He hoped it was an omen for the day, hoped that the lifting of the heavy clouds, the constant darkness and falling snow was a portent that the hours ahead would bring better news for them.

He drew in a breath, exhaled and watched it billow in the freezing air.

It was a shame he didn’t believe in that hokey superstitious shit. It might have lifted his mood and given him a little hope.

He ran a gloved hand over the under belly of the Millennium Falcon. The ship was primed and ready to go. Chewbacca and Haslam had been busy these last few days; shields were at full power, hyperdrive calibrated, navigational systems overhauled and the guns charged.

Han glanced up at the buildings around him. On his walk around of the Falcon he had counted ten heavy gun emplacements on the roof tops, at least ten snipers and a collection Horaarn and Imperial soldiers stationed at the windows that looked down upon the landing platform.

The traffic lanes had been cleared of civilian vehicles and the sky around the landing platform and the Falcon was clear, patrolled only by speeders belonging to the Horaarn security forces. Han was not fooled, however, he knew that beyond the atmosphere, beyond the blue that the Empire would be patrolling the system.

He knew that below them, in the streets of the city, soldiers and tanks patrolled and Haslam had reported movement and voices coming from the drainage system under the ship. There would be no coming back that way for Thecla.

Both the missing sergeant and Luke were on their own and Han knew that he, Leia and Haslam would have to have all the luck in the universe to make it out of the system without being taken by the waiting Imperial ships above.

They had discussed fighting, they had discussed dying, they had talked about surrendering to be with Luke and waiting, captive, for an opportunity for them all to escape together.

But in the end that’s all it was… talk. They knew what was going to happen here.

“The Sarg will come through,” Haslam’s voice cut through Solo’s thoughts. “She always does.”

Han glanced around, finding the soldier standing in the snow at the base of the Falcon’s ramp. There was a time he would have said that about Luke, too. What was it about these kids that older and more Galaxy worn veterans set aside common sense and followed blindly. “I hope you’re right,” was all he could reply.

“She has a knack for pulling things off at the last moment,” Haslam smiled, clearly recalling something, it was an amazing transformation, gone was the sullenness and dour expression. But it didn’t last long, “even if she endangers herself doing it.”

“When you both rescued Luke?” Han asked, remembering pulling Thecla on board the Falcon after she had been severely wounded by Vader’s thrown lightsaber.

“Yeah,” Haslam mumbled, turning away. There was no anger in his voice when he spoke next, only regret and concern. “Stupid bitch should have left him to Vader…”

“Watch it, buddy, that’s my friend you’re talking about…” Han interrupted, face dark.

Haslam held his palms up. “Hey, no offence, just thinking out loud.”

“You’re not helping yourself,” Solo warned.

“I’m just saying about the Sarge,” Haslam said in defence. “She’s always gotta do the right thing even if it could kill her.”

Saving Skywalker almost had.

Han considered the soldier, eyes narrowed, unhappy but willing to let it go. He needed Haslam for the belly gun. “And you think she’ll try something now?” He wanted to know, already knowing the answer; he knew how Thecla felt about Luke.

“Oh, she’ll try something,” Haslam confirmed with a snort. “We won’t like it, but she’ll try something. That one never gives up on her mission.”

Han nodded, sombrely, understanding what Haslam was saying; he expected his sergeant to sacrifice herself while giving them an opportunity to make good their escape. His attitude toward Luke was more to do with Thecla’s potential actions rather than the kid himself. Haslam cared about his non-com.

“Then we take whatever she gives us and hope that Luke can do the same.”

Haslam, face grave and dark, gave a small jerk of his head by way of reply. “Her Highness is looking for you,” he said, looking out across the city. “Says the show’s about to start.”

Solo drew in another breath and let it slowly out. This was it.

ooOOoo

Clouds obscured the massive volcano that towered over the Alliance base on Ardralii and light rain was drizzling down the framed window obscuring the view into the compound. Ehlen Anders knew that, apart from those on essential sentry and surveillance duty, few of the Alliance personnel would be moving around outside. She had passed the mess hall on her way to Mon Mothma’s office and had seen the throng of bodies pressed inside, felt the subdued tension of the crowd as they gathered before the holonet screen to watch the Imperial sanctioned broadcast from Horaarn. She also knew that elsewhere on the base, and across the Galaxy, members of the Alliance would be huddled around similar screens to watch as the drama play out, all the while knowing that the end result was a forgone conclusion… they were about to lose the hero of the Rebellion.

Ehlen didn’t know Skywalker well, had merely officiated at his debrief after Escaal and Rai’mar and had sat in with Rieekan after Cusrean while he was told that he had killed refugees, but she knew his background and had seen the impact of his actions at Yavin on the Alliance for herself; their numbers had swelled, their backers had increased and The Alliance to Restore the Republic suddenly had credibility. Luke was well liked, had risen fast through the ranks, was a talented pilot, a born leader and he had, in these last few weeks, undergone trials that no being should suffer and yet she had seen his courage and tenacity for herself.

She sighed, turning away from the window as a tremor rumbled beneath her feet, rattling the windows and causing others in the room to pause in their murmured conversations until it died away. Rieekan and Mothma were seated on the sofa away from the desk. Therriman, the Mirialan therapist invited to view with them to give his insights into Skywalker’s condition, was perched on Mothma’s desk and Captain S’adaan leaned on the arm of the sofa as they talked, looking up occasionally at the holoscreen on the wall.

Ehlen glanced at it herself, wincing as the battle at Cusrean replayed across the monitor. It was a quick, brutal fight and the refugee station exploded, flaring briefly as oxygen fed the fire and then it was gone leaving only the wreckage and the dead to drift in cold space, and Ehlen wondered how many plays this was going to get while Skywalker’s hearing was ongoing.

The boy didn’t stand a chance against the rush of media that the Empire had stirred up and promoted. The Galaxy wanted justice for Cusrean and it seemed that Palpatine was all too willing to offer his version of it. Anything less than Horaarn agreement to the extradition request would not be tolerated by the Empire and it was this that Mon Mothma, Rieekan, S’adaan and Therriman were discussing; how long would they have to evacuate the base, and change codes and hyperspace algorithms that Skywalker knew. How long before he caved in under interrogation and told Vader everything.

“…. think, Major Anders?”

Ehlen blinked, suddenly aware that someone had spoken to her and she dragged her eyes from the screen, now showing a replay of Luke’s confession. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I was asking about Major Rhovan,” Rieekan explained, he looked strained, dark hair greying, vivid shadows under his eyes. “We’re concerned that he has not yet made contact with us.”

Ehlen dropped to the couch opposite. “We have nothing coming out of Horaarn, General. If Major Rhovan has made contact with Skywalker or the Princess we have no way of knowing it. Although I doubt he’s been able to get close to Skywalker to fulfil his mission parameters given the court hearing is still going ahead. I think we can safely say that there has been no escape and no…” she glanced at Mon Mothma. “… assassination.”

Mothma had the good grace to momentarily look away, however the stateswoman quickly composed herself, but her eyes remained sad, troubled. “Then by the end of the broadcast we will know if we need to evacuate.”

Ehlen knew, as did they all, that this wasn’t just about Skywalker, this wasn’t just about Rhovan or the Princess and the rest of her companions. This whole debacle had damaged the Alliance’s reputation and systems were pulling away threatening the very fabric of the Rebellion. What was said in the court room didn’t just have Skywalker’s life hanging in the balance, it threatened the lives of all the men and woman of this base and every other base of operations that Luke knew about. It threatened the lives of the people in this room.

This was about the future of the Alliance itself.

The commentary changed, the broadcasters suddenly animated and excited as the picture switched to that of a court room interior and focused on a single figure standing, bound and alone, on a platform.

Ehlen took in a sharp breath, it was going to be a long night.

ooOOoo

The snow piled on the huge transparisteel roof was melting, rivers of water could be seen running across the surface beneath the drifts. Cracks had formed in what had once been a sheer blanket of white, they ran zigzagging across the ceiling and light from the sun was breaking through, the rivulets of water fracturing the rays of natural sunlight to cast hues of colours around the vast court room.

Luke slowly blinked, shutting off the light show for a second, before opening his eyes to stare ahead at the seven empty chairs on the dais before him. It was all the same as before. The slate marble, the heavy dark green flag adorned with the aurebesh symbols of "Dorn" "Vev" and "Jenth" hanging behind the Judges chairs and again he fleetingly wondered what the symbols meant to the Horaarn people.

Not that it mattered. It was only a thought to keep his mind from other thoughts, from ideas and fears about the hours to come and the outcome of today’s hearing. He knew how it would end; it would end with another cell and binders still around his wrists. The only doubt was whether it was Horaarn or Imperial durasteel that restrained him.

He smiled, choked back a sudden laugh; wondering what the odds being offered in the squad’s betting pool were. He would have put twenty credits on the Empire – if he had twenty credits to his name. Come to think of it Hobbie still owed him twenty-five for that bet on whether or not Ysabel Jaconti, the chief technician, would smack Wedge when he accidentally broke one of the filaments for the shield projectors on his X-Wing. The slap to the back of Antilles’ head could be heard from one end of the hanger to the other and Luke had grinned holding out his hand for payment, only for Hobbie to turn his pockets inside out to prove they were empty.

He’d need to collect when he got back to Adralii.

_Shouldn’t be thinking about Adralii… Vader would want to know about Adralii…_

Cool realisation flooded him, brought him back to where he was. He wouldn’t be going back to Ardalii, he wouldn’t be collecting from Hobbie. He hung his head, staring down at the floor of the convicted rostrum on which he was once again standing, centre stage, for the elaborate show. This time, his Horaarn guards had told him as they took their place behind him, there would be no releasing of his bonds, no chair on which to sit, he was on his feet for the duration no matter how long the hearing took.

He swayed on his feet, his back already feeling the strain, his injured shoulder burning. He coughed, cleared his throat, wishing he could reach up and loosen the high collar around his throat. It pressed against his neck, against the bruises left there by Vader’s fingers.

They had wakened him early, roughly hauled him from the sleeping platform and he had peered groggily at the Medic as the man administered another injection. He had immediately recognised the feeling of the stim shot as it had raced through his blood stream, after all he and the other pilots in the squadron had relied on them during the four days of constant short hyperspace jumps and skirmishes that plagued the fleet after the evacuation of Yavin IV. There had been no time for sleep, no time to think, barely enough time to refuel their fighters and have a stim shot administered before they were out again fighting, killing and dying.

He and Wedge had ended up wired and unable to sleep for a further two days after they had shaken off their Imperial pursuers. Finally they were ordered to the med-centre and given a sedative to help them sleep, mainly for the good of their health, but also because they were driving Ysabel to distraction. If he remembered correctly they had taken Wedge’s X-Wing engines apart and rebuilt them… except they had one bolt left over and no idea where it was supposed to go.

He had smirked at that, had felt his head clear as the drug moved through his body, feeling energy rushing through his system and he suddenly felt like he’d just wakened from the most natural sleep of his life; fresh and ready.

Except that he wasn’t ready for this.

_Can’t do this…_

Once fully awake, they had offered him breakfast which he refused, and water that he drank. Then they had removed him from the cell and taken him along the corridor to another room where he had been ordered to shower and dress. He had asked for his Alliance uniform, but he knew himself it had been ruined, the cloth shredded along with his shoulder and he wasn’t surprised when his request was denied and he was told to dress or they would do it for him. So, although balking at wearing an Imperial Uniform, he had obeyed, pulling on the clothes they had laid out for him. Black trousers, and a finely cut jacket with a stiff, high standing collar that rubbed against his chin. Its purpose wasn’t lost to him; it was to hide the bruises on his throat of course. After all he couldn’t appear on the holonet in any less shape than when he had been placed into Vader’s safekeeping.

At least he had been allowed to wear his own boots.

There was a bright side to everything, or maybe they just didn’t have his size.

He stifled his laugh, aware that his feelings were getting the better of him, aware that his thoughts were wandering, were becoming unfocused and straying into territory best left unexplored. He had to keep it together, had to keep his mind on where he was and on what was happening.

He rocked on his heels, tried to widen his stance but the chains around his ankles only had so much slack and they caught and he shuffled uncomfortably under the hot lights that illuminated him on the convicted rostrum. He could feel a trickle of sweat already weeping down his spine under the black uniform. His palms were soaking, the cut on his hand from the vibroblade was stinging like hell. He hissed, tightened his fists against the pain and looked to the floor again as the doors of the chamber swung open and court dignitaries flowed in to join him and his guards.

His gut twisted with anxiety, nausea clawed at his throat, while he waited for them to find their seats. They took their time, many openly staring at him, pointing and commenting to their colleagues. Luke chewed the inside of his cheek, willing himself silent, fighting against the desire to confront them, to challenge them. That streak of defiance had got him into more trouble than he wished to think about.

_“What was it this time, Luke?” His aunt dabbed a cool wet cloth against his bleeding lip. Her voice was firm, her eyes dark with concern._

_“They said I was an orphan!”_

_“There is no shame in that, Luke,” she advised him, sweeping up the fringe of his hair to check on the darkening lump forming beside his eye. He winced as she touched it. “I don’t think anything is broken, except a little pride.”_

_Beru sat back on her heels, skirts pooling on the sand by the farmstead dome and considered the bruised and battered face of her young nephew._

_“You are his weakness, Luke. And you have a strength within you that he craves.”_

Luke blinked, flinching in the flickering lights of a hovering holonet camera, he stepped back and the chain snagged and he almost tumbled from the raised platform. A guard behind him caught him righted him.

He was about to thank the man, but the sudden hush that fell over the court room, the sound of approaching footsteps and familiar suck-hiss of Vader’s breathing stilled his voice. Luke’s back stiffened and he gritted his back teeth, his jaw muscles bunching as he held his head high and proud, refusing to be kowtowed by his situation.

He knew what he had to do here, he knew what was going to happen and it was by his choice and no-one else’s.

He refused to turn around, sensing rather than seeing Vader take up his place at the table to his left, the same table where the Dark Lord had stood to accuse him of murder a few days ago…

_How many days… how many days since sitting in the witness chair and confessing?_

He couldn’t help but glance to his right, to the table reserved for his counsel, his representative. It was empty of course, the smooth top devoid of datapads, flimsiplast and styluses. He felt strangely annoyed, let down, abandoned as though he had expected someone to fight for him, as though he needed to know someone somewhere thought he was worth it.

_Leia! Where’s Leia?_

But, of course, he had no counsel, no-one to speak on his behalf, he was here alone. It was his choice. He wasn’t fighting this, he was accepting this.

For now. For now he would stand and take all that they threw at him. The fighting would come later. He would fight even when he knew he could only lose.

He heaved in a breath, blew it out, and looked up at the ceiling again as people began to take their seats and a respectful silence fell over the court.

Movement to his left caught his attention and a slim man in black robes pulled out a chair at the table and sat down beside Vader. Receding dark wisps of hair clung to his skull, a sharp nose and chin accentuating a thin face. Luke smirked, unable to stop himself, the man looked like a womp rat that was devoid of a meal or two. This must be the… the what? Not prosecutor, as he had already been convicted. Then what?

He shrugged, did it really matter what the man’s title was?

Losing interest Luke turned away, glancing behind him and seeing the vast, empty public gallery, seeing the large number of Horaarn troopers and security officers lining the walls and standing by door ways. He couldn’t help but smile, they were taking his safety way too seriously; after all were they not about to approve his extradition into Imperial custody, or sentence him to death? Either way he was dead it was only a matter of where, when and how.

Why not just let the crowds of disgruntled Horaarns take him and string him up? It would be a whole lot cheaper than this farce, probably quicker, too.

_Where was Leia?_

He thought she would come, he thought that she would be here for him even if she wouldn’t like what he was about to do. She’d be as mad as hell if she knew.

Would she be allowed to attend after passing him the lock-breaker?

He craned his neck around, trying to see behind, wincing at the pull of his wounded shoulder muscles.

“Eyes front,” he was warned by the senior Horaarn guard behind him.

Reluctantly, he did as he was told, aware of Vader turning to glance at him. He obeyed, not because he was afraid of what his guards would do, but because thus far no Horaarn had harmed him and one of their number had died saving his life.

 _Leia?_ _Please…_

With another heaving breath Luke turned his eyes to the raised dais and the seven high backed chairs behind the carved marble slab. He swallowed, stomach churning, as doors opened, as court dignitaries stood in respect and his judges flowed into the room in rich, dark purple robes, to take up their places above him.

Cloth rustled as they sat, chairs scraped on the floor as they settled and datapads rattled as they sorted through them.

Everyone sat, except him. He was centre stage, he was the entertainment and the holocameras darted about the room to get the best footage, to catch his every movement, his every expression and twitch of nerves.

There was quiet, a long drawn out soundless moment in which Vader’s regulated breathing seemed so much louder, amplified by the huge empty space of the court room.

A court official set at a table beneath the panel of judges rose and Luke tensed.

“This, the Sovereign Horaarn Court, is now in session. The Honourable Justice Imira’en presiding.”

The man sat and again Luke glanced to his left, looking for someone who wasn’t there, beginning to feel raw panic.

_Leia!_

He thought she would be here, he thought at least she would come to support him, even if unable to defend him. He thought she wouldn’t allow him to face this alone. He thought…

A chill washed through him and he turned to Vader – did he have her already? Was she already on his ship? Were Han and Chewbacca and Haslam? Thecla… where was Thecla?

Had everything he had agreed too been a ruse? Was it already too late?

He opened his mouth to ask, to accuse, when a hand on his arm silenced him, and he glanced around. One of guards was by his side saying something and nodding forward, but the words were lost to the white noise of consternation.

He followed the nod and found the centre judge leaning down and addressing him.

“….mmander Skywalker?”

“What?” he replied, stupidly. What had he missed?

Justice Imira’en was a heavy set man, with thick black hair and bushy eyebrows that swept right across his brow from one side to the next without a break. Right now those brows were pulled into a frown and Luke was hard pressed to work out if it was anger or concern that was being expressed in the dull grey eyes that peered down at him.

“I was merely attempting to confirm your identity,” The Justice told him, tightly.

_Anger then. That was good start, way to go Skywalker, piss off the man who could condemn you to death._

“I am aware that you are an off-worlder and unaware of our judicial proceedings. However, I expect your full attention throughout today’s hearing, I am I clear?”

Feeling foolish, feeling out of sorts, out of his depths, Luke nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Thin lips pursed in annoyance. “Your Honour,” he was correctly.

Luke was sure he could feel humour from around the court, from the Dark Lord seated nearby. Angry, embarrassed, feeling like a Tatooine farm boy, he forced out. “Yes, Your Honour.”

The Justice grunted, his lips turning down. “Very well,” he lifted a datapad, checked the information on it before looking back up and addressing Luke. “You are Lieutenant Commander Luke Skywalker an officer in the organisation known as the Alliance to Restore the Republic?”

Luke cleared his throat, fisted his hands behind his back, fighting to remain calm.

_Where was Leia?_

“Yes, Your Honour.”

Imira’en glanced to Luke’s right, frowned and leaned over to speak quietly with one of the other Judges. The whispers were tight and animated with both consulting data pads and the discussion left Luke wondering what was happening, and what it meant for him. He closed his eyes as he waited, listening to Vader’s regulated breathing. He needed to get used to hearing that sound. He swallowed, sucking saliva into his dry mouth and forcing it down his throat.

“Very well,” The Chief Justice was saying, “begin the transmission.”

Luke started, opened his eyes again as a light to his right began to shine and the blue tinged image of Leia Organa coalesced beside the empty table. He couldn’t help but grin, he was relieved to see her, thrilled that she seemed unharmed and… was that the chair by the Millennium Falcon’s engineering station she was sitting in?

Leia was free. Leia was on the Falcon. He could do this now. He would do this.

Then he stilled, chilled. Were they still planet side? Were they still in the system? What was she doing here?

“Welcome, Princess Leia,” Imira’en was saying. “My apologies for the delay in transmission, we have only just begun.”

“Thank you, Chief Justice,” Leia nodded her head respectfully. “I have been watching the proceedings.”

“Are you prepared to represent the Convicted?”

What? Luke opened his mouth to speak, to protest. She shouldn’t be here. She should be gone. He had warned her, had told her to tell Han to haul jets and get away. He didn’t want this, he didn’t need this. He had made his decisions.

“I’m afraid not, Your Honour,” Leia’s hologram stood and addressed the court, before Luke could protest. “I have been unable to speak with the Convicted to discuss his appeal, his plea for clemency, or his defence against the extradition request and I respectfully request that I be given time to do so.”

“Your Honour!” Luke sounded desperate, frantic. He glanced at Vader, saw the man’s dark lenses looking his way, watching, listening. “I have not exercised my right for an advocate, the Princess…” He trailed off meeting Leia’s dark eyes, seeing her pain, her confusion at his words. “… is in error.”

Leia’s expression hardened, she glared at him. He had seen that look before and it was usually reserved for Han. “If it pleases the court, I would very much like to discuss this with the Convicted in private.”

He winced at Leia calling him that, knowing it was probably court protocol, but it still stung and his voice carried that hurt, that anger. “I have nothing to discuss with…”

A sharp rapping cut Luke off mid-sentence and he and Leia turned to the panel of Judges sitting above them. Now their attention was on him Imira’en placed the gavel down and, brow pulled down in displeasure he addressed Luke, his voice stern. “The convicted does not have rights and should speak only when spoken too. The Princess has volunteered to be your Representative and is willing to speak and present evidence on your behalf, but…” and he turned to Leia. “… It does help if there is solidarity in these matters. I will grant you ten minutes with the Convicted.”

“You are most gracious, your honour,” Leia bowed her head in deference.

The Horaarn guards at his back stood and took Luke’s upper arms, turning him on the rostrum. They helped him step down, lead him from the room and into an antechamber. His legs caught in the shackles, wrists worried against the bite of the cuffs behind his back. He was seated before a comm screen and the Hoaarn’s stepped back to wait by the closed door way.

Luke’s mind buzzed, stomach knotted. He couldn’t let her do this, couldn’t allow her to interfere. Couldn’t allow her to sway him now his mind was made up. Wouldn’t allow her to remind him of what is was he giving up.

“Luke?”

He couldn’t help but smile as she appeared on the screen. Her hair was caught up and twisted, braided into a neat bun. Her eyes, warm and dark watched him with concern. She was beautiful.

“Leia,” he breathed her name.

“Luke,” Leia warned, the screen flickering as she spoke. “You need to let me do this.”

He shook his head. “No, Leia, _you_ need to let me do this.”

“Do what Luke? What is it you think you’re doing?”

“What’s best for the Alliance…”

“… the Alliance?” She echoed in bewilderment. “What about you Luke? What about what’s best for you?”

“I thought… I thought you would understand. I have to do this for the Alliance. This… this is best…”

“What are you doing, Luke?” She was leaning forward, her voice insisting he tell her.

“I…” He brought his eyes up to look at her, to see her reaction. He owed her that much. “I’m not fighting this.”

He could hear Chewbacca howl in the background, Artoo whistle and Threepio’s exclaim of “Oh No! Master Luke.” The edge of his lip twitched, almost smiling glad to hear them all, relieved they were all safe.

Thecla… Where was Thecla? Hadn’t Leia said the sergeant was…

“You’re giving up!” And Luke wasn’t sure if it was anger, accusation or astonishment that underscored the princess’s words.

He shook his head. How to make her see? How to make her understand that he needed to do this. He need to accept this. “No… I… can’t explain it. I need to see this through and…”

Luke broke off as a hand appeared on Leia’s shoulders, looking up she nodded and moved aside as Han slid into the seat.

“What’s going on, kid?”

Luke shrugged. “Oh, you know, the usual…”

“Need me to save your ass again?”

Luke forced a grin. “Not this time, Han. I have it covered.”

Han grunted, not convinced. “Yeah, looks like it.”

He glanced around at his guards before speaking. They were Horaarn, not Imperial. He would need to hope that they did not report back to Vader, would need to hope that the comm connection wasn’t being monitored. “Can you switch the audio Han, I need to speak to you. Only you.”

Han glanced around at Leia, before reaching forward and flicking the channel and placing an ear piece into his ear. “Okay, kid, fire away. What’s really going on?”

“You need to leave, Han. You need to take Leia and get out, now.”

Han shook his head, glancing to the side where Luke knew that Leia was impatiently waiting. “Can’t do that, yet.”

Luke heard the tone in Han’s voice, understood their position, the frustration he saw in Solo’s eyes. They didn’t have permission to lift off, the Falcon was probably heavily guarded. To attempt take off now would probably destroy them. He licked his lips. “Han… I’ve agreed not to fight this, I’ve… agreed to go with Vader…”

“…kid…”

“No, just listen. Just listen and do what I ask. This one thing… stop Leia from representing me and let me go.”

Han was silent for moment, staring at Luke through the screen his eyes dark with unease. “And those bruises on your throat, kid?”

Luke’s hand jerked in the cuffs behind him when he automatically tried to raise is hands to hide his throat, surprised that Han had noticed the marks, had thought them fully hidden by the high collar. He looked down, away, embarrassed.

“I can’t see ‘em, but I’m no fool. Tell me, Luke, did they have anything to do with your decision?”

A stir of anger at the sorrowful accusation in Han’s voice brought his head up in challenge. “No, they didn’t. I just… I have to do this. You have to let me do this.”

Han nodded, looking pained, unhappy. “Just tell me why?”

Luke shrugged, smiled, knowing Han would understand. “Leia… For Leia…”

_For you, for Chewie, for all of you…._

“… if I do this Vader’ll let you all go.”

Han shook his head. “And you believe him?” Incredulity underscored his words. “Kid, Vader’s a lying, cheeska sleemo.”

Luke’s lips curled into a smile as Han descended into Huttese curses. “Please Han, get her out. Promise me. I can do this if you get her out.”

Han became grim, face set at Luke’s finality. “I can promise you I’ll get her out, kid…” he assured his friend and Luke closed his eyes in relief, feeling a weight lifting from his shoulders.

“… but I ain’t stopping her from fighting for you.”

Only for it all to crash back in on him.

Luke’s eyes snapped open, he sat forward, leaning desperately nearer the screen. “No, Han… please… you don’t understand…” but Han was looking away, back at Leia and pulling the ear piece out. “Han!”

Leia was on screen again, toggling the audio, changing it back. “Luke…” Her eyes were dark, focused and determined. “We don’t have much time left, we need to discuss your appeal and our arguments against the extradition. I’m going to ask for a lesser conviction, a lesser sentence and request a return to the Alliance to serve it.”

Luke lowered and shook his head, his hair falling forward over his face. His mind buzzing, hissing with the white static of panic. He couldn’t make them see, he couldn’t make them understand. His blood rushed, his heart beating so fast he could both hear and feel it. The rapid beat stole the breath from him.

“Luke!” Leia urged from the comm screen, trying to get his attention. “We’re running out of time.”

She was right, he could feel it… tick-tock tick-tock… as the minutes counted down.

But to what?

He glanced back up to the screen, looking at the Princess earnestly talking to him; explaining her outline for his appeal, her voice low, using the cultured tones of her Royal upbringing as she was apt to do when under stress, but he wasn’t listening, her words lost to him. He felt distant to what was happening, felt separated and detached.

She was strong… stronger than him… courageous and beautiful. He would have followed her anywhere… had followed her across a Galaxy. Her cause became his own, their lives intertwined in war bringing them close. He remembered picking her up and swinging her around after the Death Star battle, remembered her smile as she placed the medal around his neck. He remembered her angrily grounding him for fraternising with a squad mate in the cockpit of his x-wing, remembered them all sitting on packing crates in the hanger playing sabacc while sharing a bottle of Corellian Whiskey and laughing as Leia cursed like a veteran pilot.

He would follow her, but she could not follow him.

He needed her gone.

“… bring the… events on Escaal into this, but I really think…”

Luke blinked, the familiar planet name, the place of his torture and humiliation at the hands of the Empire, bringing him out of his daze. “What?” he said, numbly.

“Luke,” by the tone of her voice it was clear that Leia was trying to maintain her patience. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, tucking it neatly behind her ear. She looked vulnerable in that moment and he loved her all the more. “If we are to bring you home you have to trust me.”

_Bring you home…_

_“Where is home, Luke?”_

Luke shuddered at the whisper of Dade’s… Rhovan’s… voice, squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the memories at bay. He couldn’t deal with them just now, had to stay focused on what was happening now, not what happened weeks ago. He shook his head, he wanted to rub at his eyes, at his temples; he could feel a headache looming, but his hands caught against the binders fastened at his back. “Leia, I… Don’t do this. Please…” His voice was rough with emotion, with exhaustion.

“Luke, I’m going with Diminished Responsibility.”

Luke stiffened and stood up, so abrupt were his movements that the guards behind him braced, hands going to their weapons belts. He turned to them, away from Leia. “Take me back.”

They hesitated for only moment, then nodded and took him by the upper arms and escorted him from the room back into the court chambers as Leia continued to call for him through the open comm channel.

He clenched his jaw, muscles bunching, trying to maintain a blank façade as he walked with his guards across the floor of the court back toward the convicted rostrum and was helped to step up back until the spotlight. He looked at no-one, not the seven Judges waiting to pass sentence, not the Dark Lord to his left and not to the flickering image of Leia when she rematerialized a few moments after he had taken his place.

ooOOoo

Vader could not help but turn toward the door as it opened and watch as Luke was escorted back to the rostrum. There was storm raging in his son. He had felt the burst of feelings through the Force, had felt the despair, the panic and the anger. He smiled beneath his mask; such anger… rage squalling and flaring darkly within the Force.

Power… if only his son realised the power he held.

Soon it would be released, soon it would be harnessed and unleashed upon the Galaxy. His son would become a formidable Sith, greater even than Palpatine himself.

Vader watched as Luke stiffly stepped up into his place and settled into his forced stance. His face was hardened, the muscles in his jaw bunched as he fought to control the conflicting emotions which seethed and writhed within like coiling serpents.

It would appear that his son had had a disagreement with his friends.

The hologram of the Princess reappeared in the court room. Leia Organa was looking grim and equally as angry as his son. Did she not realise that she was pushing Luke away, was she so blind and hell-bent on rescuing her friend that she could not see that her actions were having the opposite effect and only driving Luke further into darkness.

Neither of them could see the danger, the inherent hopelessness of their situation.

He turned his eyes away from his son, back to the panel of Justices, satisfied that all was as it should be.

ooOOoo

“Have the Convicted and yourself come to an understanding?”

Leia swallowed before she spoke, smoothing her throat and dismissing as much of her anger and disappointment as she could, ensuring that her voice was firm. “No, your honour. If it pleases the court the…” she hesitated over the word, glanced over at Han who was sitting at the Dejarik table watching the court hologram. He looked bleak, deeply troubled after his words with Luke. “…convicted should be regarded as hostile to his Representative and to his own best interests.”

Justice Imira’en leaned slightly forward his eyes on Luke, but speaking to Leia. “On what grounds?”

She hesitated, her gaze going to Luke; he was standing tall, back straight and head high under the hot lights. A thin bead of sweat trailed down the side of face. She hated this, hated doing this to him, but it was the only way to save him from Vader, the only way to save him from himself. She steeled herself and plunged on. “It is our belief that the Convicted’s mental and emotional state at this time is unstable. We believe his cognitive ability is currently impaired and we have reason to suspect that he is…”

“The People object, your Honour,” The thin man next to Vader stood, voice sharp, interrupting Leia. “The Princess Leia is not medically qualified to make that assessment.”

“… under coercion from the Lord Vader not to appeal against the conviction or to challenge the extradition request.” She finished firmly.

“That is an outrageous slur on Lord Vader! The people object to this…”

More rapping from the gavel and a warning.

“There can be no objections as proper proceedings have not yet begun…” Imira’en warned, sharply.

The People’s Representative sat down, his lips pursed with anger.

“… and Princess Leia I caution you on making such accusations. We will not be taking anything said at this point into consideration when making our final decisions. I also advise that you should be aware that we only have this one day to decide the Convicted’s fate. You, The People and Lord Vader have a finite length of time to present your evidence. To delay on this argument before we have even asked the Convicted his intent may mean that time will run out and a decision will then be made without the Justice panel hearing all of the evidence.”

Leia nodded, she had done her homework. Had worked all night. “I am aware of that, Your Honour, however this is relevant to the Convicted’s appeal. I have evidence and eye witness accounts to support my arguments that the Convicted has been struggling emotionally and mentally for some time.” Again she looked at Han; he had seen Luke in a “flashback,” he seen his friend’s distress and confusion and could testify to those facts. Haslam could testify to the events of Rai’imar when Luke disobeyed his orders and she had Artoo Detoo - she had learned a lot from Artoo. “However, much of that evidence is vital to his appeal against his conviction and against the extradition request. To divulge it now may be prejudicial to his defence.”

Imira’en’s brows drew together again. He glanced about the panel looking for their decisions. All nodded. “Very well,” he announced, “It is unusual, but we will begin…”

ooOOoo

“Lieutenant Commander Skywalker…”

Luke jerked at the sound of his name, tore his gaze away from the flag above the Judges’ bench. It had become his focal point, his centre. The rich green of the cloth, the golden letters adorning it becoming more important to him than the words being uttered about him. If he looked at it, if he tried to make out what the letters meant to the Horaarns then he would not hear what was being said, he would not be able to listen to his own voice, his own doubts and weaknesses. He would not hear or see Vader to his left or Leia to his right arguing over his life.

His eyes found the face of his Judge as his crime was put before him.

“… you have been convicted on twenty thousand four hundred and fifty-two counts of murder, of which one hundred and five were Horaarn citizens. This hearing today is a sentencing hearing during which we will hear any appeal of innocence you wish to make, or any plea for clemency should you have no grounds for appeal or if your appeal fails. The Peoples Representative, Lapte’cka,” he paused and indicated the womp rat man sitting next to Vader, “will present any evidence that he feels should be taken into consideration when it comes to the sentencing. Lord Vader will present any additional evidence he has to support the Cusrean Council’s request that you be extradited to the Empire to face their justice for your actions. Do you understand?”

Luke’s throat worked, trying to find his voice, trying to find the words. He forced out, “Yes, Your Honour,” although he didn’t understand, not really. Didn’t understand a judicial system based on the presumption of guilt. He didn’t understand what Leia was doing, how she could be here representing him. She should be running.

She was going to ruin everything.

“Do you wish to make an appeal for innocence?”

Luke licked his lips. This was it. Time to take responsibility. “No, your Honour.”

He sensed, rather than saw the hologram of Leia coming to her feet, about to argue, but the Justice held up his hand silencing her. Leia sat back down.

“Do you understand that not appealing allows the court to go straight to the People and permits them to request the harshest of punishments?”

Luke blinked. Isn’t that what he deserved? He didn’t know how he found his voice. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“And you are fully aware of the possible consequences of your decision and are not under any pressure from a third party to accept your guilt?”

In a split second Luke’s eyes darted to the left to Vader and back to Imira’en. “I know the consequences, your Honour. I am guilty and I am prepared to accept any punishment the Horaarn people deem appropriate for my actions…of my own free will.”

The Chief Justice’s eyes narrowed and he sat back, looking at Luke for a long moment before his gaze slid toward Vader. He then turned to his fellow judges and they quietly conversed for a few moments, some nodding, some shaking their heads until they fell silent.

Luke swallowed, heart hammering. This could be all over soon.

“Such a heinous crime demands swift and immediate justice,” The Chief Justice started slowly as though thinking aloud, addressing Luke. “However, it is with some regret that the Court cannot accept your denial of innocence. We are inclined to agree with your Representative that you are currently presenting as a young man who is clearly struggling with the weight of your actions and are not fully cognizant, nor mindful, of the seriousness of your situation otherwise, the Court feels, you would have entered an appeal. That is not to say that at the time of your crime you were incapacitated and it is that which requires to be evidenced today by your representative…”

He turned to Leia, who stood. “Do you wish to enter a plea for innocence on behalf of the convicted?”

“I do, your honour. We plead innocence to the charges of murder on the grounds of Diminished Responsibility and ask that the Convicted be found accountable of a lesser conviction. We strongly object to the Empire’s extradition request and we submit our own request that the Convicted be returned to the Alliance to serve any sanction imposed by this court.”

ooOOoo

On the holonet screen Skywalker paled, his jaw muscles bunched, his eyes flashed briefly… anger? A camera buzzed close to him, its lights making him blink and turn away. He was visibly shaking, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Rhovan pushed up on the medical bench and leaned forward staring at the monitor noticing the blood stained dressing on Skywalker’s hand. The injury, Rhovan had learned, was the lesser of two knife wounds sustained during an attempt on his life.

An attack that had resulted in the death, not only of the would-be assassin, but of a Horaarn guard with whom Luke had stayed as he died, giving up a chance to escape. Skywalker’s compassion had trapped him and…

Pain rippled across his back as his muscles went into spasm and he grimaced, gritted his teeth and gingerly eased himself back down onto the medbench, sighing in relief as he settled in a more prone position.

Velaptor really had done a number one him and he hoped that someday he could reciprocate.

Once admitted to the medical facility Rhovan had submitted to treatment only after ensuring he would have access to the holonet immediately on emerging from the bacta tank. He didn’t have long to familiarise himself with the events of the last few days before the sentencing hearing was announced to be taking place just shy of the fifty-two Horaarn hours.

He had refused to rest, to sleep, once dried and dressed, but had agreed to remain in the medicentre for the time being. Skimming through the vast amounts of information on the holonet the Major had caught up with the gist of what had happened while he had been caught, incarcerated and tortured by Velaptor on Vader’s orders. Skywalker had been locked up the second his feet touched Horaarn soil and had agreed to be subjected to Horaarn law which had effectively rendered any diplomatic status he may have had null and void. Not being privy as to why Luke had made that decision, Rhovan was unable to even hazard a guess as to what had taken place on the Millennium Falcon’s landing platform.

Throughout the Committee Hearing investigating the events above Cusrean, Skywalker had seemed agitated, on edge; he had continually glanced around the court room as the princess gave her evidence on behalf of the Alliance, as though looking for something or someone. He had rubbed at his face, wiped his palms against the fabric of his trousers, clearly restless and stressed. When he was called to the stand there was clear hesitation and reluctance, and the boy had walked stiffly to the witness podium and stumbled over questions that resembled those that Rhovan had asked him on Escaal during his interrogation…

_“With which squadron do you fly?_

… and Rhovan had to wonder if Vader had any input to those questions to further distress his son, and make the boy more susceptible to mistakes and more open to manipulation.

Which is, of course, what happened. Luke had tripped himself up, had appeared cold and callous when he had stated that whether the Empire attacked the Alliance fighters or defended the refugee station against them was dependant on what side you were on. It had taken the Chairperson to point out his mistake and only then had Luke realised how he had come across to those watching and listening. It had given Vader the perfect moment to make his entrance with his accusation of murder.

Rhovan had to admit that the Dark Lord had played the game board well. He had placed his markers exactly where he wanted them and forced the Alliance into error after error. Luke was well and truly pinned by his very public confession.

And now he stood alone on that rostrum, separated from his friends and from any means of escape; his life hanging in the balance, his fate very much in the hands of others.

No, that wasn’t true. Skywalker’s life lay in the hands of his father.

Rhovan, closed his eyes, feeling fatigued and exhausted wondering if the medical staff would agree to a stim shot should he request it. His body still ached, his nose was still sore from Solo’s fist, but the bacta had done its job and the cuts were closed, bruises rapidly fading.

“The court will hear your appeal for the Convicted, Your Highness, and will consider your request for the Convicted’s return to the Alliance just as we will consider Lord Vader’s petition for extradition. Please bear in mind that you have a time limit.”

The voice of the Chief Justice, sounding tinny and small from the audio system of the portable holonet player, drew his attention again and, grimacing, he pulled himself up on the bed, determined to see this through.

The hologram of the Princess wavered, before strengthening again. “Thank You, Your Honour,” she acknowledged, bowing her head in deference to the reminder. She paused, glancing across at Luke who stood still, staring away from her, before beginning. Rhovan, risked sitting up and leaning in further, eyes narrowing when he saw her swallow nervously and he wished the camera would focus back on Luke to see his reaction to her opening statement.

“It bears repeating for the court record that Lieutenant Commander Skywalker was _under orders_ from Alliance Command and from his squad leader to fire his weapons at the Space Station.” The Princess spoke clearly, her voice betraying none of the nervousness Rhovan had noticed. “The testimony I have already submitted to the Committee Investigation and to your honourable selves, clearly demonstrates that the Alliance had strong evidence that the Space Station contained a biological warfare research facility and was, therefore, considered a threat and a legitimate target. The Alliance, the attack squad and the Convicted had no knowledge that it was a place of refuge.

“The Convicted has publically conceded that, with his Jedi abilities, he became aware that no-one on board the Cusrean Space Station posed him, or his squad, any threat. He has admitted that despite this awareness he still fired his weapon. However, it is the contention of the Convicted that he was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder at the time of the attack…”

Rhovan’s eyes narrowed, realising what the Princess was doing. She was going to use Escaal. She was going to use Luke’s capture and interrogation to evidence her plea.

The cameras were suddenly on Luke’s face. He was pale, made more so by the bright lights that highlighted him on the pedestal draining any colour from him. Sweat ran down the side of his face to his neck and soaked into the dark fabric of the high collar. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, resigned to events. It was something the boy had done on Escaal; hung his head, refused to look, and accepted whatever punishment was coming his way.

It wasn’t an act of surrender, it was an act of defiance.

“…the conditions and pressures of the battle,” The Princess was saying, “and a clear and direct order from Alliance Command and from his commanding officer coupled with the knowledge that he had already been reprimanded for disobeying a direct order, and had been warned of the possible consequences of repeating the offence, all came together in one moment, one decision…”

Rhovan could feel his stomach tighten in anticipation of her next words, anxiety rattling through him, fearful that the tact the Princess seemed to be going for would backfire and play into Vader’s hands, would give Vader and the Horaarn Representative the arena on which to take Luke, and the Princess’s defence of him, apart piece by piece.

Did it matter anyway? This was all a sham, the Horaarns and the Empire playing games with the Galaxy. Allowing the media to gain ratings and to present the idea of a fair and just trial to garner support and damage the Rebellion. There was no doubt in his mind that Luke was going to end up in another dark cell with Rhovan as his interrogator once more.

And as much as he had considered and questioned Vader’s motives for putting them together again, it was still the same thoughts that came to his mind.

Vader wanted Luke broken. Vader knew what it would do to his son to be brought to another interrogation room and to find Rhovan waiting for him.

A second betrayal. The Resistance Commander was an Imperial. The Imperial was a Rebel and a colleague… The colleague was an Imperial…

Luke would be confused, shattered. He would know Rhovan knew where the base was, he would know that the entire Alliance Command would be in jeopardy… he would know what Rhovan was capable of doing to him, to the Alliance.

Vader wanted his son taken apart piece by piece…

For what purpose?

And again Rhovan had only one answer.

To rebuild him.

But rebuild him into what?

A pawn, trapped between his father and Palpatine?

A Sith?

Another Dark Lord?

Bringing Mon Mothma’s fears into fruition.

And looking at the boy now Rhovan knew his job was going to be so much simpler that it had been on Escaal.

But which job?

Darth Vader’s?

Mon Mothma’s?

Should he put the boy down like a rabid Dorax?

 _“And Isla’s suggestion?”_ Taln’s voice from all those weeks ago when the Network had rescued the pilot from the moorland and from the Empire.

_“And that was?”_

_“A blaster bolt to the head.”_

Rhovan smiled sadly. Isla, always straight to the point. Isla who had ultimately sacrificed herself for the good of the Network. Isla who gave Taln and Skywalker the chance to escape only for them to be caught a day later.

Taln, whom Rhovan had ordered to terminate the pilot and leave his body where the troopers would find it. Taln, who also futilely sacrificed himself for Skywalker.

The dead Horaarn guard in the elevator was another; losing his life to save Luke.

What was it about this youth that instilled such martyrdom in beings he had only just met?

And why had he stilled his own hand when he’d had him alone and vulnerable in that turbolift on Escaal? He had hesitated, stood with his finger poised on the trigger, pointing the muzzle at Luke’s bruised and bloodied face. He had seen courage and conviction in the youth. He had seen a boy falter and bring himself back from the brink. He had seen the same audacity and mettle that he had seen in his brother, the same fighting spirit, the same…

Maybe Velaptor was right: perhaps he had seen his brother in Luke.

Dammit…

He had to stop this. He had to remember what he was fighting for. What he had dedicated his life too and one boy was not going to get his way.

He would do what he had to do – as he always had.

He focused on the holoplayer’s screen as Leia Organa continued to speak, throwing aside his errant thoughts and questions.

“Our evidence will detail how, and why, the Convicted was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress. It will show the effects that this has had on the Convicted’s emotional wellbeing, on his mental health and consequently on his behaviour. It will show the intelligence that the Alliance received concerning the Cusrean Space Station and it will highlight the moment at which the Convicted decided to fire upon it and the pressures placed on him at that time.”

Again she paused, facing forward, chin high with determination and Rhovan licked his lips, fearing her calling for her initial witness. Surely she wouldn’t put Skywalker on the stand and question him about Escaal, not when he was so obviously struggling to maintain his composure, not when he had made such a huge mistake the last time he had sat on the witness stand.

“To that end and, If it pleases the court, I call The Lord Darth Vader as my first witness.”

ooOOoo

Luke’s eyes snapped open. Vader’s name shattering the wall he had been trying to build around him, pulling down the half assembled boundary that he hoped would shield him from the defence that Leia was trying to construct for him. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t want to hear how badly he handled this situation, this whole nightmare that spanned from being shot down over Escaal to this moment.

His mind buzzed, hissed. It was hard to think, so hard to pull any sense or coherence to what was happening around him, what was happening too him. He just needed this over.

He just needed that small dark cell where he would be able to sit alone and be at peace. Where he could gather his thoughts and know what he had to do.

In that cell it had all seemed so simple.

There was shouted protests from his right where the Horaarn Representative, Lapte’cka, was arguing against Vader testifying. He could hear Leia’s voice argue back, could hear the Chief Justice rapping his gavel for quiet. He could hear, could make out some words above the buzzing in his head…

“… vital for the Convicted appeal…”

“… outrageous request, Lord Vader is a…”

“… there will be order…”

… but he didn’t understand them. Didn’t want to understand.

“The court will allow this.”

His vision blurred and he could feel his body tremble, he swallowed thickly, his throat clogging.

Escaal… they were going to discuss Escaal…

Escaal where they had stripped him, beaten him, tortured him, humiliated him. Where they had forced him to stand, forced him to…

A large dark shadow passed him and he couldn’t help but glance up as Vader walked toward the witness stand.

 _“You are his weakness, Luke…”_ the voice of his dead aunt from his dreams and visions echoed within. He frowned, confused, what did that even mean? Why did it keep recurring?

Was he going mad?

How could he be this man’s weakness? Did a man with the power Vader possessed even have any weaknesses?

Luke drew in a breath as Vader settled his bulk in the witness chair and took the Horaarn oath to be truthful. Trying to calm himself, trying to centre himself, he slowly blew the breath of air back out.

He could do this. He had to do this. He had no choice but stand here, just as he’d had no choice on Escaal. On Escaal….

He smiled.

He could this.

He could take this.

Feeling the Dark Lord’s lenses settle on him as Vader waited for Leia’s first question, Luke turned his eyes back to the green and golden flag that hung above the panel of judges and reached out to the Force.

_…stay up, Luke…. Stay up… stay up…_

ooOOoo

Sitting at the Dejarik table Han gave Leia an encouraging smile and mouthed “go for it.” He had to admire her nerve, her sheer determination to save Luke that she would face down the man who had incarcerated her and tortured her. That she was daring to put Darth Vader on the stand… well that took guts.

He watched her take in a breath before she began. Solo knew she was steeling herself, not just to question the Emperor’s enforcer, but steeling herself against the pain that she knew the evidence was going to cause their friend, the horrors that would be rekindled for Luke as he stood in stoic silence as those around him argued his fate.

“Your Honour,” Leia stated into the holotransmitters, “approximately fifteen weeks ago the… Convicted… was shot down during a battle in the Escaal sector and badly injured. Despite initially being aided by the Escaal resistance network he was captured by Imperial Forces and imprisoned…”

“Your Honour,” a tired, bored voice protested and Han glanced down at the hologram of the court room that was being projected onto the table. Lapte’cka was on his feet. “Your Honour, I see no point in this, all the Princess is doing is confirming to the court the criminality of the Convicted. He has been arrested and imprisoned on Escaal, he has been arrested by her own Alliance and now he is convicted here. We may as well skip the so called appeal and have the sentence pronounced now.”

Han wanted to squash the guy.

Leia squared her shoulders, annoyed by the interruption. “Your honour if the esteemed people’s representative will allow me to present my case within my allotted time, then perhaps I will not interrupt him when he stands to present evidence for the sentence.”

The Chief Justice nodded. “The People are within their rights to question evidence, however, they must do so with careful consideration. The People are hereby reminded of that. Carry on your Highness.”

“Thank you, your honour,” Leia bowed slightly in acknowledgement. She straightened and took in a steadying breath before addressing a silent and waiting Dark Lord. “Lord Vader, you were present on Escaal during the Convicted’s incarceration were you not?

“I was, briefly.”

There was no hesitation in the acknowledgement, but Han thought he could detect humour in the Dark Lord’s tone. It made him nervous.

“Can you explain the Empire’s interest in the Convicted?”

Now there was hesitation and Han frowned staring down at the small holo-figure of the Dark Lord, not understanding the brief pause.

After a beat, Vader responded. His controlled tones carrying anger and outrage. “He is a traitor and a terrorist. He is responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of loyal Imperial personnel and citizens. He claims to be Jedi, an outlawed status within the Empire. The Emperor requires that he be brought to justice and answer for his crimes… as do the peoples of Cusrean and Horaarn.”

Leia nodded, anger tightening her features, hardening her eyes, but she didn’t bite to Vader’s description of Luke, nor did she respond to Vader’s attempt to sway the court, trusting that the Justices on the bench would have recognised the tactic. “Can you explain to court what happened to the Convicted on Escaal while in your custody?” Her voice was sounding stronger with ire behind it.

“He was not in my custody. He was in the custody of the Empire and the Emperor.”

Again Han heard humour. The black hearted bastard was enjoying himself! Solo glanced to Luke. His friend was standing, stiff and straight and staring at nothing, but his hands fastened behind his back were clenched in fists.

“Can you explain what happened to the Convicted while in Imperial custody?”

Vader was silent for one cycle of his breathing mechanism, his helmet turning to look toward Luke and finally he gave Leia the answer she was looking for. “He was subjected to enhance interrogation techniques when he proved reluctant to answers questions without… encouragement.”

“Can you tell the court what these techniques entailed?” Leia’s voice was cold, bitter and determined.

Vader was still looking at Luke as he spoke. “Stress stances, restraint, physical motivation, electroshock therapy, medication.”

Leia was nodding as she listened and lifted a data pad. “Stress stances,” she repeated. “A euphemism for being made to stand for hours in an awkward and ultimately painful position. Restraint, in the Convicted’s case, this meant being handcuffed to a durasteel cord and hung from the ceiling. Physical motivation, was beating him. Electroshock therapy was applying a charge to the Convicted’s previously injured back and the medication you spoke of was a cocktail of drugs designed to keep him awake and coherent and more likely to answer your questions. Is that not correct, Lord Vader?”

Leia’s voice was trembling with rage, she didn’t give Vader a chance to answer. “I submit the following holo-image reconstructed from the memory banks of our Astromech droid, who had managed to slice into the Escaal prison’s main computer.”

Han grimaced, knowing what was about to be broadcast as Artoo plugged into the Horaarn holo system and began to transmit the images he had recorded those many weeks ago on Escaal. In the middle of the courtroom an image of a figure appeared hanging from an invisible ceiling. The man was almost unrecognisable; features bruised and battered. Torso patterned with abrasions and contusions with trails of blood running down his arms from wrists gouged by manacles.

Han wanted to get up, wanted to walk out, wanted not to see again what they had reduced Luke too, but he stayed. He stayed to be there for Leia, to be her support for she needed him so she could do this. He needed to stay for Luke…

He just wished he had done more than just break the nose of the man who had done this to Luke.

“Is this an image of the Convicted, My Lord?” Leia was saying, her voice tight, barely controlled.

“It is.”

“And were you present at any point in that cell.”

“I was.”

“And was the Convicted injured when he was captured?”

“I was not…”

“Was he injured when captured, Lord Vader?”

“He was.”

“Artoo, play the recording…”

ooOOoo

The force hummed, vibrated, as his son drew strength from it. Vader ignored the recording as it played for the court his focus solely on Luke. The boy was staring straight ahead, sweat soaking his hair, sliding down the side of his head to wet the tall collar that hid the bruises on his neck. His body trembled with effort, hands clenched behind his back, head up, jaw tight. His eyes were glazed, completely detached from what was happening in the court room. Carefully, cautiously, the Dark Lord opened himself to the Force, lightly touching his son’s presence.

_Stay up, stay up, stay up….._

He smiled at the mantra, at the words repeated over and over, as Luke fought against the stresses that were being placed upon him; both physical and mental. The boy was fighting, struggling against the forced stance before the court, against the pain and humiliation of his weakest moments being broadcast to an entire Galaxy.

His son was strong, untrained he was using the Force to supplement his stamina but Vader knew that Luke could not sustain it indefinitely, knew that it would only take one nudge, one carefully placed jolt in the Force to break the concentration and bring reality crashing back in.

Resisting the temptation, allowing Luke the escape he needed at that moment, Vader withdrew from his son’s feelings and thoughts, and directed his attention to the Princess Organa as she prepared to continue her questions when the recording ended.

He allowed his respirator to cool his anger, to quell his growing impatience at being placed on the stand, knowing that the princess had make a mistake by using Escaal. It seemed she was hoping to show Luke’s mental and emotional instability in the run up to the Cusrean attack, and in that she could be successful, but she appeared to have forgotten one important fact.

Major Erwin Rhovan.

ooOOoo

Skywalker showed no reaction to the recording. He remained still, staring blankly ahead seemingly impervious to the images and sounds of his own interrogation and torture that were playing out just feet away from him.

“It’s called dissociation,” a soft voice supplied.

Tearing her eyes away from holoscreen Ehlen Anders glanced around at Therriman, Luke’s appointed therapist.

“Luke is detached from what’s happening around him. It’s a coping mechanism to distance himself from what’s happening. I saw milder forms during his therapy, a separation of self from reality, like a daydream. He found it difficult to focus.”

Ehlen’s attention turned back to the screen. “Is it pathelogical?”

“It’s difficult to comment without breaking confidence,” the Mirialon psychologist stated, he was watching the screen, eyes norrowed as he assessed his patient. “However, from the look of him now, and bearing in mind that he’s been in custody again for a few days I am gravely concerned for his emotional and mental health. He’s strong, tenacious, but he also assumes too much on his own shoulders and that creates needless stress for him. From what I see here, and from my knowledge of him, I would say we could looking at a Depersonalisation Disorder, but I can’t make a sure diagnoses without a prolonged period of assessment…”

“… and that’s unlikely to happen.” Ehlen bleakly finished for him as she sank back into the sofa in Mon Mothma’s office and glanced around the small group gathered in the room with her. The Lady Mothma was pale, sickened by what she was witnessing but still her eyes were fixed on the monitor. General Rieekan’s hands were sitting on his lap, fists clenched with useless anger. Sa’adan’s eyes were dark, the Sullustan’s features unreadable.

Only she and Therriman had engaged in any conversation since the trial began. The mood of the group was low, disheartened. Even the base outside Mothma’s window was muted and quiet and few personnel were to be seen braving the rain of the compound.

There was a soft rumble from beyond, a vibration rippling through the building, shaking the furniture and Ehlen unconsciously gripped onto the arm of the couch as the mild ground tremor waned and stilled. It was as though the volcano beyond the compound was remiding them all of the precariousness of their situation.

 _“You have allowed your fear to consume you, boy,”_ The hologram of Vader was saying, as the image of Luke, hanging brusied and battered from a line, gasped and grunted in pain and panic. _“But it is your anger and hatred that has sustained you thus far.”_

“We can use this,” Sa’aadan said quietly, his dark eyes staring at the screen, his expression difficult to read.

_“You cannot. You cannot resist further, Skywalker.”_

“This could work to our advantage.”

“What do you mean?” Mothma questioned, briefly glancing over at the Sullustan Captain before her attention was once more captured by the events on the holo-screen.

_"I.. won't betray... the Alliance... as… you betrayed... my father..."_

Eheln caught the intake of breath from the Alliance leader, saw Mothma leaning that little bit further forward in her chair.

 _"It was not_ I _who betrayed your father,"_ The holo of Vader intoned.

There was a pause, Sa’aadan’s comment momentarily forgotten, all eyes in the room fixed on the screen, at the tense standoff between Skywalker and Vader; one hanging beaten, bloodied, bruised and at the mercy of the other. Suddenly, Luke spat at the Dark Lord, the spittle, mostly blood, spattering on the Dark Lord’s mask. The retaliation, a backhanded fist across Luke’s face, was quick and brutal.

Ehlen looked away, Rieekan rose from his seat and began to pace, clearly enraged and agitated and she had to wonder if he now regretting laying charges against Skywalker for disobeying orders when the boy’s courage was on display for all to see.

This was the moment Luke had talked about in his debriefing after Ra’imar and it was more horrific than any of Skywalker’s words had suggested. The pilot had been uncomfortable, had stuttered his answers, shifted uncomfortably in his seat before the panel and now she knew why, had seen his torment for herself.

Major Rhovan’s questions, given to the panel that had included Derlin and Sa’aadan, had been weighted to ask about Vader. The Dark Lord had also come up in the debriefing after Cusrean, again slanted to ask Luke about the man he accused of killing his father.

But why? Was Rhovan really concerned that Luke would willingly join the Empire as had been suggested? Was Luke the loose cannon Rhovan feared? What was it really that intrigued the undercover operative come interrogation specialist about Luke and Vader – and where the hell was Rhovan? What was he up to? Had he been captured, too?

The hologram stopped and the camera’s focused on Leia once more. The Princess was clenching her jaw, her anger and disgust palpable. “Is that your idea of ‘enhanced interrogation’, My Lord?”

“How can we use this?” Mothma questioned, her voice sounding troubled, but relieved nonetheless, it was a strange combination that intrigued Ehlen. She kept her eyes on the screen while listening to Sa’aadan and Mothma.

The Captain gestured toward the holonet, to Luke standing stoic and alone. “The Princess has shown the Empire for what it is. The Galaxy has seen what the Empire does to injured and capture combatants, they have no honour.”

Ehlen shook her head, understanding what Sa’aadan was saying, but knowing it would take more than this to salvage the Alliance’s damaged reputation. “No,” she said quietly, “it would be wrong to objectify the Lieutenant Commander as the Empire has. The recording speaks for itself, we should not use it for any other purpose than the one the Princess is attempting. The Alliance still has the memory of Alderaan, of the atrocities and enslavement of the people of Jabiim, the Ghorman and Teardrop Massacres, the invasion on Ralltiir... to name but a few. Our supporters know the truth of the Empire, we just need to remind them and using one boy is not going to make much of a difference in the scale of this war. Besides…” she motioned toward the screen, at the hologram of the Princess Leia turning away from the Dark Lord as though her questions were complete. “… are we to stoop to the methods the Empire use? Are we to parade and posture like they do and try to claim the moral high ground? Or…”

“Shhhh….” Therriman admonished. “Something’s happening…”

ooOOoo

Leia did not allow Vader to answer, before she turned back around and asked another question. “In your vast experience of torturing…”

“Objection!” Shouted the Horaarn Representative. “We have already established that the Convicted was not tortured. That is a subjective view point and…”

“My Lords, the People’s representative is again interrupting the Convicted’s allotted time for his appeal!” Leia argued with frustration.

The Chief Justice waved his hand and the Horaarn retook his seat. “Carry on, your Highness, but please be careful with your wording.”

Aware of her time limit, Leia nodded and turned back to Vader. “In your experience of using ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’ have individuals suffered psychologically in the aftermath?”

There was a grunt from behind the black mask, as though the man was laughing. “That is difficult to answer, Your Highness. Most were executed for their crimes immediately following their confessions.”

Leia clenched her jaw, shot a glance to Han for reassurance. The Corellian smiled grimly and nodded. “Please answer the question, Lord Vader.”

“I believe you are more qualified to answer, your Highness, since I once questioned you.”

Han was on his feet, face reddened with rage. “…son of a bloodfin…”

Leia blanched, face draining of colour. She gripped the edge of the engineering console, knuckles white. She looked back at Han, held her hand up, silently placating him as she looked down at the small holo of the court room on the game table. Luke hadn’t moved, hadn’t shown any reaction. He stood still, seemingly aloof and remote, as though he wasn’t aware of what was happening around him, as though he hadn’t heard Vader’s dig at her. It disturbed her more than anything Vader could ever say to her. However, she had to push her worry for Luke away, had to force her disgust at Vader’s words to the side and lock down the memories of her own incarceration and torture at Vader’s hands.

“Just answer my question,” she rasped.

“It is possible,” the Dark Lord conceded. “There have been…”

“And is it therefore possible that Lieutenant Commander Skywalker has also suffered psychological damage from his experiences on Escaal?”

“I am not a…”

“Just answer the question.”

“It is possible.”

“Thank you,” Leia abruptly turned away, faced the bench of Justices, leaving Vader waiting on the wirness stand. “I submit, via evidence transcript twelve on your datapads, that the Convicted has been undergoing treatment with the Alliance medical team for symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

There were nods as the Judges lifted their pads and briefly viewed the evidence.

“I have no further questions for Lord Vader,” behind her she could feel Han stir again as he stood to approach the holo-transmitter. Therriman, Luke’s therapist, was back on Ardralii and so Han and Haslam were the only witnesses the Princess had to testify to Luke’s erratic behaviour since his return from Escaal and confirm that he was indeed undergoing treatment. “If it please the court I call…”

“Your Honour,” Lapte’cka was on his feet again. “I respectfully request that I be allowed a few moments to cross examine his Lordship.”

Leia immediately stiffened, protested. “Your Honour, the Representative is again determined to interrupt the Convicted’s allotted time and I…”

The Horaarn slowly shook his head and smiled. “Any time I take with Lord Vader may be taken from the People’s time and returned to the Convicted. Your Honour, this will save me from recalling his Lordship.”

“I will allow it,” the Chief justice nodded, with several of his colleagues doing likewise.

Leia slowly sat, jaw clenched with anger, with fear; she had a bad feeling about this. Han came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, knowing they would appear in the hologram in the courtroom and not caring; Leia needed to know he was there for her. She swallowed, one small hand coming up to cover his and her fingers squeezed against him, thankful for his company and then he stepped away when the people’s representative began speaking.

“Can the recording just played for the court be displayed please and…” he paused and lifted a datapad, glancing at the information it displayed. “… and continue playing it past the time marked by the Princess Leia, just after Lord Vader strikes the Convicted.”

The horror played again, and this time Leia didn’t look, she had seen it enough, she knew what was coming now and bitter gall rose into her throat. She glanced at Luke, seeing again his bland expression, the far off look on his face. He seemed oblivious to everything that was going on around him and her heart broke for him.

They were going to lose Luke.

 _"My Lord Vader!"_ Rhovan’s voice protested from the hologram.

“Pause the recording,” the Horaarn representative requested.

It stopped, the picture wobbled, but held. Rhovan stood, dressed in the dark uniform of an Imperial Interrogation Specialist.

The Horaarn gestured to the image. “Lord Vader, can you identify this man?”

“He is Major Erwin Rhovan.”

“And where is he just now, my Lord?”

“He is currently serving within the Rebel Alliance.”

ooOOoo

Rhovan grinned. He couldn’t help it, he had to admire what Vader was doing, had to doff his cap to the Dark Lord’s machinations, with one sentence he had taken away the Princess Organa’s arguments, had brought into doubt her claim that Skywalker was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress. Astutely ignoring the stares from the medical staff, the barely disguised confusion about who he was…

_Who am I?_

_What am I?_

_And do I really want those questions answered?_

…Rhovan pulled himself up on the medical bench, eyes fixed on the holonet screen, fascinated by the drama playing out in the courtroom.

Skywalker had still to show any kind of reaction and Rhovan had to wonder if Vader would march the boy to a cell or to a medicentre when he brought him to the ship, for surely the Dark Lord could not fail to see how damaged Luke was.

“The Alliance?” The People’s Representative questioned on the screen, sounding perplexed but over acting, obviously enjoying the moment. “Can you please explain, My Lord?”

“Major Rhovan was a Rebel undercover operative and the Commander of the Escaal Insurgency group.”

“And did the Convicted know this?”

“Yes,” Vader’s answer was a hiss.

Rhovan shook his head, still grinning, at the half-truth. Luke hadn’t known… well, not until Rhovan had told him and had then stepped back and left him to hang, left him to the droid once assured the pilot could not damage the Network any further.

The Horaarn was outraged. “He knew!” He pointed at Luke, who was standing silent and still, eyes unfocused, staring into nothing. “He _knew_ the man questioning him was a friend and an ally?”

“Yes.”

“So the interrogation…?” Lapte’cka sounded confused, sounded like he was trying to wrap his head around a difficult concept. “It was… a charade?” He sounded incredulous and he stared at the Princess’s hologram, eyes bright and victorious.

Vader took a beat to answer. “Skywalker appeared adversarial toward the Major, was in obvious discomfort... but you will have noticed from the recording Major Rhovan’s protests when I attempted to take control of Skywalker’s interrogation. It was during his transfer from the Escaal prison to my ship that Rhovan liberated him and both escaped...”

Rhovan narrowed his eyes. Vader hadn’t answered the question, he had merely implied collusion between himself and Luke.

“…It was later revealed that the Major had been feeding Skywalker energy rations to bolster his strength and had surreptitiously encouraged him to resist.”

Rhovan snorted laughter at that. The energy rations he had fed Luke had been water laced with glucose and the encouragement to resist must refer to the few minutes when he’d disabled the cell’s surveillance systems.

“So… this man…” the Representative turned from Vader, pointing at Luke once more, this time with anger, with disbelief. “ _This_ man whom the Princess Organa claims was mentally affected by his experiences on Escaal had been in the custody of an Alliance operative all along. He was being tortured and questioned by one of the Alliance’s own, by his own colleague… and he was complicit to it.”

Lapte’cka stood quietly for a few seconds then he abruptly turned to the Judges bench and addressed it. “Your Honours… I have no further questions for his Lordship.”

Rhovan pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to ease the ache of his injury, barely listening now as the Princess Organa asked to re-examine the Dark Lord and was refused. Her tactic now had to be damage control, she had to somehow undermine the insinuation that Luke had played a willing part in his own interrogation, and had carried out a ruse against the Dark Lord and the Empire while waiting an opportunity to escape.

It made Luke seem fanatical, cold to even his own pain.

And he supposed that was the point.

Again the holo-cameras strafed Luke with light, picking up his solitude, his silence, his stillness and Rhovan had to wonder what others watching this were thinking of the boy on the rostrum. What they were thinking of his fixed expression, the empty stare of his blue eyes, the utter lack of reaction to Vader’s revelations and the representative’s accusations of complicity.

To Rhovan, at that moment, Luke just looked lost.

ooOOoo

Dismissed from the witness stand Vader rose and crossed the floor past the flickering image of Leia Organa as she continued to protest at the denial of her request to cross examine him, past the convicted rostrum where his son stood immersed in the Force and seemingly oblivious to what had just occurred and, as he took his seat next to the people’s representative, he was satisfied that the job was done. Luke would be leaving with him, no matter what further evidence the Princess could present on his behalf.

With his attention on his son, the Dark Lord was only vaguely aware that a hologram of a Rebel soldier had materialised on the witness stand. He could hear the Princess’s voice, tight with frustration and fear ask her questions, he could hear the dull, droll tones of the man as he answered, but most of the Rebel’s words were lost to him, unimportant. Beneath it all he could only hear two words, repeated over and over, two words that had become a staccato beat, a straw at which to grasp, a focal point on which to concentrate.

_…Stay up…. Stay up… Stay up…._

As untrained as he was Luke was deeply submerged in the Force, had entered a meditative state and was only distantly conscious of where he was and what was happening. His control and power was astounding, his strength of will and dogged determination in such a situation as this were admirable, but they were all for nought. Hiding within the Force would not save Luke from his fate, it would not stop the inevitable.

The Force itself had ordained Luke’s fate. He could not use it now to escape, events were shaping themselves around him and he was the eye of the storm, seemly quiet and at peace, aloof and detached as he concentrated on his mantra…

_…Stay up…. Stay up… stay up…_

… however Vader could see the signs, the tells, that gave his son’s true state away. He was sweating beneath the lights, hair becoming plastered to his head, the collar around his neck was wet, there were darker stains at the small of his back and beneath his arms. His hands were clenched tight into fists and his throat bobbed every time he swallowed. His jaw was clamped, muscles bunching, and his eyes were fixed on the flag above the Judges’ bench.

All it needed was a nudge, a small push within the Force and Luke’s concentration would crack and crumple and he would have no choice but to wake and face the storm that encircled him.

The Rebel soldier was dismissed and Organa called the Corellian smuggler, Han Solo, to the stand. This was the man whose ship had reportedly come to Luke’s rescue above the Death Star and fired upon his wingman in the trench. A part of him had to reluctantly admit that he felt a sense of gratitude to the Corellian; if Solo had not intervened then Vader would have killed his own son and would never have known that his child had survived Mustafar, would never have had the opportunity to know his son, to possess him, to introduce the boy to his natural birth rite.

Yes, he must remember to thank the smuggler, just before crushing the life from him.

“… well, I’m no doctor, but the kid… I mean Lieutenant Commander Skywalker… hasn’t been the same since Escaal.”

“Can you elaborate please, Captain?”

Vader tuned out the Corellian’s voice as he answered the Princess’s question. Anything they had to say was irrelevant and pointless; even now his fleet would be moving into the system to form the blockade, even now pilots would be dressing for combat their orders simple… drive the Millennium Falcon toward the Executor.

He smiled beneath his mask, old scars tugging. Not only would he have secured his son by the end of this day, he will also have captured the Princess Leia Organa and Solo. The loss of all three, the heroes of Yavin, along with the damage wrought by the battle of Cusrean, would be a massive blow to the Alliance both in terms of morale and recruitment.

The Rebellion was dying; the heart of it was about to be ripped out, severed from the body and soon its death rattle would echo throughout the Galaxy.

“…. no way did Luke know. None of us knew about Rhovan… hell, Luke went after the guy… that’s how he ended up with that cut on his face.”

Vader brought his attention back to the Corellian’s testimony, glancing again at his son as the Princess led her witness.

“Can you explain to the court what happened?”

“Now,” Solo leaned forward trying get his point across. “I’ve seen guys in a flashback. I’ve seen them lose it and the kid had lost it. The guys in the Squadron said that Luke had gone quiet when the holonet showed those pictures, you know the ones with all the…”

The Horaarn Representative leapt to his feet. “Your honours this testimony is hearsay, bunk room gossip. I request that that you disallow Captain Solo’s statements and ask that he sticks to what he witnessed himself.”

Justice Imira’en pursed his lips considering the motion.

“Your Honour,” Leia argued. “I have been hampered in building my case for the appeal due to the current embargo around Horaarn and I am, therefore, unable to present further witnesses to this event. Captain Solo’s account of the events is the only testimony I have at this time to the Convicted’s state of mind.”

“His state of mind _after_ he has murdered over twenty thousand souls…” Lapte’cka interjected.

“… yes after, but it also demonstrates his instability following his incarceration and torture on Escaal.”

There was a twist in the Force, a spike of desperation, and Vader turned to his son. Luke was beginning to lose his control, was beginning to emerge from his meditative state. The full weight of his situation was crushing back in on him.

_Stay up…. Stay up…. Stay up….._

The words were becoming frantic, less of a mantra and more of an anguished plea.

_Stay up… stay…. Stay…. Stay…._

“I will allow this testimony,” the Chief Justice decided and nodded at Leia as the Horaarn representative returned to his seat with a shake of his head.

“Please continue, Captain,” The princess encouraged her witness.

The image of the Corellian broke up for a second as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Then he picked up when he left off. Vader listened with his eyes still focused on Luke.

“Okay..” Solo breathed, raking a hand through his hair, sounding nervous. “… the squad said he had gone quiet and just stood and walked out of the commissary when the media report of the attack was shown. Anti…” He stumbled over a name, and changed tact. “Luke’s wingman said he realised where the kid was going and went after him while some came to get me. Ah… They said that Luke had pulled his saber on the guy…”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Sure… When they reached Luke he had found Major Rhovan and smacked the guy and pulled his lightsaber on him. His squad tackled him and took him down.”

“Yet another example of the Convicted’s criminality, your Honour,” Lapte’cka was on his feet again.

“Sit down, Representative,” the Justice admonished. He waved his hand at Solo, “and please continue Captain.”

Solo’s jaw had tightened with anger, eyes hard as he glared at the Representative as he continued his testimony. “Luke was a mess, he wasn’t making much sense. He was fighting the guys, didn’t seem to know where he was until I got to him and spoke to him. It took him a few moments to realise who I was, who the guys were. I knew then what was happening, I’ve seen it before, he was flashing back.”

The Princess nodded, looked pained, upset. “You said he wasn’t making much sense, can you tell the courts what he was saying.”

Solo swallowed, his eyes softening. “When I got there I could hear him shouting something about not getting ‘taken back,’ he said something about a ‘Network’ and mentioned the name ‘Dade.’”

Vader felt a shudder through the Force, a reaction to Solo’s words; his son’s grip on the Force was slipping away, he was nearing the surface and was more aware than he wanted to be. He had heard Solo’s words, knew what was being spoken about….

_Stay up, stay up, stay up, stay up…._

… and was still fighting against it.

“Did you have any idea what he was talking about?”

Solo shook his head. “No… not at first. But when he came too, he told me that he’d gone to speak to ‘Dade,’ then he said that he had meant Rhovan. That he had hit Rhovan…”

“… You’re saying that The Convicted attacked a higher ranking officer?” Again the Princess’s words were strained, grieved.

The Corellian hesitated, the hologram image looked over at his friend. “Yeah…” he breathed, reluctantly.

“Do you know why?”

“Yeah, I learned that Rhovan was an Imperial Interrogation Specialist. He was the guy that had tortured Luke.”

“You are a combat veteran, are you not, Captain?”

“Yes.”

“You have been in involved in traumatic events, have seen friends and comrades badly affected by battle and horror, by personal injury and experiences?”

“Yes.”

“So you know what Post Traumatic Stress is and how it can present itself?”

“Yes.”

“You said that Luke was ‘flashing back,’ what did you mean?”

Again the Corellian hesitated, again he looked at his friend standing alone on the rostrum. “Luke was reliving what had happened to him on Escaal, he wasn’t conscious of what he was doing.”

Another flare in the Force, feelings leaking out; shame, embarrassment, anger.

Vader smiled at the twist of ire from his son as his weakness was made public.

The Princess finished with Solo and repeated her earlier assertion that Luke was undergoing therapy with an Alliance doctor for the symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress and, with a twist of his own anger, the Dark Lord had to wonder why the Rebels had allowed him to fly on the Cusrean mission in the first place. Why had they allowed a pilot so gravely injured to return to battle? Had they believed that their hero would be healed by a victory? Had had they risked his son’s life, his emotional and mental well-being on…

The court room faded out for a moment as understanding was driven home. If his son truly shared any of his father’s traits then he would have yearned for battle, he would have cried out for vengeance and demanded that he be reinstated and not be left standing on the side-lines watching others be given the missions he knew he could do.

_“You’re going to need me on this one, master.”_

Obi-Wan had smiled and agreed, stating that his search for Grevious may just be another wild bantha chase. They had parted as friends, and yet there had been an undercurrent of distrust. An awkwardness that had existed ever since Palaptine had placed him on the Jedi Council, since the Jedi had asked him to spy on the Chancellor.

The Jedi had never given him another assignment, they had kept him on Coruscant while others risked their lives.

To be excluded was agony and he could only surmise that Luke had felt the same.

And Vader was abruptly reminded of the image of his son standing alone in the rain, facing the oncoming might of his enemy, boldly intent on sacrificing himself for his friends, and of the pride he had felt at that moment.

No, like Anakin, Luke would never settle for the side-lines…

_Anakin?_

… he would have been frustrated and angry. He would have jumped at the opportunity to re-join his squads.

Luke _had_ leapt at the chance. Vader had felt his child’s glee during the Cusrean battle, had felt the thrum of darkness as his son had turned his ship around and headed for the space station intent on, and committed to, its destruction.

Unseen, Vader smiled again; his anger at the Alliance for pushing his son into battle was misplaced. He should be thanking Mon Mothma and her staff for sending his son careening into his father’s hands – and perhaps one day he would. Perhaps one day he and Luke would stand side by side and thank her just before they ran her through.

“Your Honour,” Leia Organa’s voice cut into the Dark Lord’s thoughts. “If it pleases the court I only have one more piece of evidence to present: the Convicted’s cockpit voice recording from the battle. From this the court will clearly hear Lieutenant Commander Skywalker warn his comrades that the station did not pose a danger, and desperately try to convince them not to attack, you will clearly hear him being given direct orders from his Commanding Officer and you will clearly hear his turmoil as he fights not only his inner conscience, but also as he fights for his life against the Imperial forces that met the squad in battle. You will hear his comrades die, and have an opportunity to appreciate the pressure and stresses upon him at that moment and you will hear him when he comes to his decision to destroy the station.

“While listening, I respectfully request that you bear in mind the horror that he endured in that cell on Escaal.”

The Princess’s image turned and nodded. There was a hiss, a crackle and a voice broke into the silence of the court room.

_“Artoo, Three minutes to reversion…”_

His son’s voice, sounding calm and confident. The whine and hum of the X-Wing’s engines, playing a soothing back drop to Luke’s harsh breathing over the comm as his adrenalin flowed in anticipation for the coming battle.

     Eyes on his son, Vader opened himself to the Force. He gathered it too him, feeling across the expanse of power, reaching out to touch the crumbling layers of the barricade that Luke was still desperately trying to hold together, that he was still trying to shield himself with and hide behind. He knew it wasn’t going to last much longer, he knew that Luke’s strength was failing him and he knew that very soon his son would have no protection.

_“Shit!”_

The Dark Lord smile at the mild profanity from the recording. He knew what was coming, after all it hadn’t been difficult to splice into Artoo’s memory banks, given that his command codes still existed within the little droid. It was astonishing to think that, after all this time, Artoo Detoo’s system had never been wiped, that not once in over two decades had anyone thought to clear the detritus that clogged up the droid’s memory. It had proved to be, on this occasion, a blessing. However, he knew it could also be a curse if someone were to look too closely at what Artoo still carried within him.

When he captured the smugglers ship, he must ensure that the droids were transferred to his personnel service, which was, after all, their proper place.

 _“No!”_ His son’s voice suddenly cried from the tape, pulling him from his thoughts. _“Commander this is a mistake. There’s something not right here!”_

It was also his son’s place to be by his side, to be in his father’s service and once Luke knew of his heritage, once he had been trained in ways of the Force, the ways of the Dark Side, Luke would understand this too. His son held great potential for the Darkness.

 _“Sir!”_ Luke protested from the recording. He sounded distressed, distraught and the panel of Judges were frowning, eyes narrowed listening carefully and taping out notes into their data pads. _“The station’s not...”_

_“That’s a Gods-be-damned order, Skywalker!”_

Thus far all was as Organa said. Luke was under duress, Luke was under orders, but he knew how this recording would play itself out, and he wondered if the Princess had the courage to play it to the end and in doing so condemn her friend.

Carefully, keeping his presence cloaked, he lightly brushed against Luke’s defences and smiled when it buckled a little more.

ooOOoo

Thecla closed up the jacket of her uniform and lifted the belt, synching it around her waist and fastening the leg strap around her thigh. Straightening up she tugged the hem of the jacket, pulling it down and adjusting it to regulation fit.

_“He’s got a lock!”_

She glanced at the holonet monitor that was set onto the wall of the locker room as the camera focused on Skywalker. Luke’s eyes were shut, sweat was gathering and running down the sides of his face and the collar around his neck looked soaked. He was visibly trembling, his breathing quick and harsh.

A locker banged shut and a rough voice stated, “Scum looks drugged… he probably has no idea what’s going on around him. Damned Horaarn’s gave him an out.”

Thecla tore her eyes away from the Rebel on trial and glanced at the pilot across from her, but said nothing, she merely picked up the side arm she had requisitioned from the armoury a few minutes ago, checked the safety was on and slipped it into the holster that was strapped to her leg.

She reached inside the locker for her cap.

“So what do you think?”

Thecla closed her eyes, knowing the question was being put to her. She didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to think of her mission and the conclusion of it.

“What do I think about what, Lieutenant?” She used his rank to emphasis her reluctance to engage in conversation. She had only met the man, her co-pilot, a few minutes ago after spending the last few hours proving her credentials and authorisation codes to the ranking officer on Horaarn and being supplied with a uniform and weapon shipped down with a quartermaster from Lord Vader’s ship.

The classified nature of her authorisation had lifted a few eyebrows and paled a few faces, but she had been supplied with what she asked for and the position she requested, much to the chagrin of the shuttle’s pilot who had been side lined.

“D’ya think we’ll be hauling Skywalker once this is over?”

Thecla turned away, hiding her reaction, hiding the doubt in her eyes. “I’m sure we will be.”

“Yeah, but if the Horaarn’s side with the Rebels….?”

Thecla donned her cap, keeping her back to her co-pilot. “Lieutenant, even if the Horaarns find him innocent I am sure we will still be ‘hauling’ Skywalker to the Executor. Lord Vader is not a man to let the laws of other systems get in the way of Imperial edicts. Skywalker is ours.”

From the monitor there was a sudden shriek of droid noise and Skywalker’s voice screaming. _“I’m hit, I’m hit!”_

Thecla bowed her head, drew in a steadying breath and turned to the man. “Come on, we have a shuttle to prep.”

ooOOoo

Sitting with her back straight and her head high, data pad clasped tightly in her hand Leia Organa glanced over at Han. The Corellian was deep in conversation with Haslam and Chewbacca and Leia knew they were putting the finishing touches to their escape plans. She knew the guns were calibrated, the engines were ready and that Han had already input several hyperspace calculations into the navicomputer ready for a quick jump.

Solo sensed her eyes on him and he glanced over, nodded encouragement although he seemed grim and tense.

The Princess returned the nod trying not to let her nervousness show, knowing that her every move was being transmitted in her image into the courtroom. Knowing the recording was coming to an end, she glanced down at the data pad in her hand; her time was running out, her defence of Luke was coming to an end.

She could only hope she had done enough to secure his innocence, or at least put enough doubt in the panel’s minds to his mental state and ensure a lower sentence. She could only hope that they would consider Luke’s return to the Alliance with the same attentiveness that they were giving to Vader’s extradition petition.

She sighed, shook her head; she could only hope.

On the recording, with the names of the pilot now silenced out to protect them, Luke made his decision.

_“W…., H…., form up. Let’s do this and go home.”_

Leia suddenly stood, instructing “End Recording,” to Artoo Detoo.

ooOOoo

It was the sudden silence that finally broke through Luke’s defences and threw him from the protection and solitude he had wrapped himself within. He had felt his grasp slipping, had felt his strength fade and slowly his surroundings had bled into his isolation. He had become aware of Leia talking, hearing her voice but not the words. He had been aware of the heat from the lights above him beating down upon his body, could feel the sweat running; dribbling down his face, could feel it trickle down the small of his back to soak into the dark uniform they had supplied him with. He could feel his muscles cramping; his legs trembling, his back clenching painfully.

_Stay…. up… Stay… up… Stay… stay…._

His head was throbbing, pounding with fatigue and dehydration. The strain of standing still in one place for several hours without rest had finally snapped his inner mantra, and he had struggled to cling to the words, to the rhythm that he had slipped into.

Until now… until the silence of the room had achieved what words and gestures, what lights and camera’s had failed to fully accomplish. The Force ebbed from his control, slipping away like tendrils of mist, leaving him awake and fully aware and at the full mercy of his situation.

He blinked in the lights, pupils contracting tightly, brow pulled down. He felt muddled and confused, a haze clouding his thoughts as he tried to figure out what was happening now.

He was sure he had heard his own voice, and that of Wedge and the rest of the squad. He thought he had heard the Cusrean battle and…

He chilled, stiffened and turned around, feeling the eyes of another on him. Vader’s helmet was looking his way, the eye lenses dark and empty as they gazed upon him. He felt… amusement… through the Force; a sense of victory from the Dark Lord.

What had happened, what had he missed?

Swallowing dryly, he pulled his gaze away and found the hologram of Leia also looking his way.

Something was happening.

He bowed his head, shut his eyes tight and clenched his fists, biting back the hiss of pain as sweat stung the cut across his palm.

Something was happening.

Finally the dragging silence ceased when Leia spoke.

“And that concludes our evidence for the appeal. Neither the Convicted, nor myself, refute that he fired the fatal shot into the Space Station and thus killed the refugees taking shelter on board. However, I implore this court, this honourable panel, to consider the evidence presented, the testimony given; the torture he endured at the hands of the Empire on Escaal and the impact that has had on him. The fact that he has been receiving therapy, that his behaviour has been erratic and unpredictable as corroborated by both Captain Solo and Private Haslam. The fact that he was under direct orders from his commanding officer during the battle to fire upon the station. You heard the cockpit voice recording, you heard the battle for yourselves and heard the stresses and pressures he was under."

Leia paused and Luke could feel her look his way. She wasn’t in the court room, but he could still feel her. There was sorrow and reluctance and a cold determination to fight for him even when he wouldn’t fight for himself.

“Before I finish, I will return to my assertion that I believe that the convicted is under coercion from The Lord Vader...”

More objections from the opposition. But Leia ignored them

“… and I request that his jacket be undone and the bruises I suspect mark his throat to be exposed.”

Luke felt sick, nausea churning his empty stomach as the small womp-rat faced man continued to protest. His head was buzzing, he felt faint, felt his body tremble with fatigue, as again he raised his eyes to Vader and again all he felt was amusement.

The Chief Justice was saying something, someone was stepping up close to him, fingers were on his Jacket’s fastenings undoing them at the neck. He stepped back, jerking his head away and almost stepped off the rostrum. Hand took his arms… words were said by the guard beside him…

“..stand… just… so… can be…. Court.”

“What?” His voice was dry, hoarse.

He got no response except to be turned to face the panel of judges and his jacket opened, exposing the dark bruises left on his throat by Vader’s hand.

Suddenly lights flickering in his face, the drone and hum of repulsors as holocamera’s flew in to broadcast this latest humiliation to the galaxy. He winced, flinched, stomach muscles tightening suddenly reminded of Dade’s…

_…no.. Rhovan… his name is Rhovan…_

… droid.

There was a flash of concern through the Force and Luke’s head jerked up looking around for the source, his eyes once again finding the Dark Lord of the Sith regarding him.

It was a perplexing moment. Why would his enemy be concerned for him? Why would Vader, who had taken everything from him, who had stripped him down to his very core…

_“It was in my way!”_

… and who had callously ripped the truth from him, be concerned?

He tore his eyes away again, not wanting to look, not wanting to see. He stared up at the transparent ceiling, watching the melting snow run in rivers across the surface and dragged in a breath.

 _Keep it together, Luke,_ he told himself, _Keep it together. You can do this._

But how was he to do this. It was all being done _to_ him. He was a passenger in these proceedings, being carried along by the flow of events unable to stop it. No matter how much he dragged his heels, no matter how much he flailed against it all, he could do nothing but be swept along with the tide.

Ever since Escaal his life had not been his own and…

No. Not since Escaal.

Since…

_“Uncle Owen! Aunt Beru! Uncle Owen…”_

_The smell of smoke, the stench of burning flesh. The twisted figures lying by the entrance to the homestead._

He blinked, chasing away the memories from his mind. He heaved in a breath, letting it slowly out as the guard stepped down, leaving him alone on the platform once more.

_Alone…_

He was alone.

And exposed.

He wanted to grab his collar and draw it together, he wanted to refasten it and hide the bruises, hide the marks, hide what Vader had done, but his hands were fastened securely behind his back. So he stood, head high, eyes to the ceiling and let them all have a good look.

The silence in the court was once again broken by Leia. “As you see Your Honour, the Lieutenant Commander has, once again, been subjected to ill treatment at the hands of the Empire. Treatment that I believe is designed to exploit Luke’s current vulnerability and coerce him into agreeing not to fight his extradition, not to fight this appeal.

“This is only a small demonstration of what the Empire subjects its prisoners, too. You saw the recording from the Escaal cell, you saw the blood and the bruises left on his body and that is the fate that awaits the Convicted again should he be returned into Lord Vader’s custody.”

She glanced down at her datapad, quickly reading what she had prepared to say in conclusion. “I trust that Lieutenant Commander Skywalker’s conviction will be quashed on the grounds of diminished responsibility and that the Empire’s request for his extradition back to Cusrean be denied. Should he consequently be convicted of a lesser charge, I repeat my request that the Convicted be returned to the Alliance to serve out any sentence this court imposes.”

She paused, bowed to the court and finished. “Thank you.”

ooOOoo

Rhovan couldn’t help but feel that Leia Organa had just make a mistake. He had a feeling that despite the bruises on Skywalker’s neck, despite the very obvious finger impressions on his skin, this was going to backfire badly.

The Princess wanted to highlight the brutality of the Empire.

But Vader was wanting to highlight Skywalker’s instability; his volatility… his guilt.

And Organa had failed to ask the most important questions; what, why and how?

How had Luke gotten those contusions? What had happened in the Horaarn cell? Why had Vader wrapped his hand around his own son’s throat?

Rhovan plucked restlessly at the bacta dressings around his wrists while the Chief Justice thanked the Princess for her evidence and turned to address the Horaarn Representative and the Dark Lord as the extradition petitioner.

He couldn’t stay here much longer, he couldn’t lie in this medbed while there was work he needed to do and preparations he needed to make before Luke was brought aboard this ship and back into his care.

 _“I would do it again,”_ he had told Luke. _“Taln and Isla were my friends. They died trying to save your sorry hide, don’t let their deaths be for nothing.”_

 _“Go,”_ Mon Mothma had ordered when she had sent him after the Millennium Falcon and Skywalker. _“Go, and do what you have to do.”_

When giving that order, Mothma knew he would do exactly that. She knew he would take that open mandate and take whatever action he thought necessary to keep Skywalker from his father, to stop the boy becoming Sith like his sire, to stop their combined strength from damaging and destroying the Alliance.

He would do whatever he had to do… even if it meant that his friends on Escaal had died in vain.

Even if it meant betraying the oath he had taken as a young man fresh from the Academy, standing in a new uniform alongside thirty other young men and women especially chosen and rigorously trained for a lifelong mission.

_“Conflict gives purpose to the Empire. Conflict will lead to growth and expansion. With both, the Empire can only prosper…”_

Yes, he would do what he had to do even if it meant disposing of Skywalker and facing death himself at Vader’s hands.

Without taking his eyes of the monitor he gestured to the nearest medic, using his rank, his position, his ambiguous status to intimidate her. “Have a uniform brought to me and contact the brig, tell them to expect me within the hour for an inspection of the facilities.”

The woman paused, looked uncertain, but agreed. “Yes, sir.”

Rhovan pushed himself, up, swung his legs out of the bed and winced at the sharp pains that lanced through his muscles and the dizziness that threatened to drop him. “And bring me a gods-be-damned stim shot.” He shouted at her retreating back.

He glanced back at the holonet screen; the Horaarn Representative was now standing making his opening speech and Rhovan had a feeling the court proceedings were drawing to a close.

ooOOoo

“…. facts seem clear and all the Princess Leia has done is confirm what we all know to be true; the Convicted is a criminal, a terrorist and a mass murderer.”

Luke hung his head; not because he was ashamed, not because he believed everything the man was saying…

_… but you do believe it. You do… Remember the little girl. Remember the burns on her face, the way she hit the shields and tumbled away… you did that…._

He grimaced, fighting against his inner voice, swayed on his feet as he closed his eyes and snatched at the Force, reaching out and fumbling to get a grip, to draw it to him and…

_Stay up… stay up…_

“Let us look at a few facts about Luke Skywalker…. Fact: his guardians died in suspicious circumstances and….”

Leia was on her feet. “Objection! Luke’s family were innocents killed by soldiers of the Empire!”

“Do you have proof of that, Your Highness?”

Leia coloured at his words and turned her attention to the panel of Judges. “Your Honours, the fate of Luke’s family has no bearing on this case and I request that the Representative’s implications against the Convicted be dismissed from evidence.”

The Chief Justice glanced at the people’s representative.

“Your Honour, I am trying to paint a picture, a background to this act. His history if you will, the facts about the Convicted do have relevance here.”

“You may continue…”

“Your Honour,” Leia protested, angrily.

“Sit down, Your Highness!”

Leia sat, as a little smirked curled Luke’s lips. She was livid, he could tell… and besides, did it really matter that he was being implicated in his Aunt and Uncle’s deaths? What was two more to add to his tally? Besides, if he had hadn’t persuaded Owen Lars to buy some droids to help with the harvest none of this would have happened and they would still be alive.

He was responsible for their deaths. It was his fault.

Luke blinked, glanced up, saw the Horaarn pointing at him and he ducked his head to try and hide his smile because, so help him, the guy really did look like a womp-rat.

ooOOoo

“What the hell is he doing?”

Leia tore her attention from what her opponent was saying and glanced at Han; the Corellian sounded troubled, disturbed. He was leaning forward onto the game board staring at the hologram of the courtroom.

Muting her comm connection and, risking turning her attention temporarily away from what the Horaarn Representative was saying, she explained. “He’s twisting the facts to suit his case, he’s trying to sway the panel by…”

“Not him,” Han dismissed, abruptly. He pointed at Luke, much like the Horaarn was doing. “I’m talking about Luke… The kid’s grinning.”

Horrified Leia turned her attention back to Luke and, catching his expression, she chilled, stilled. His head was down, but his eyes were turned to the Horaarn, lips twisted into a smirk. It was an expression she had never before seen, or expected to see, from Luke. It was a look of arrogance, of impiety, and she knew that if Han had seen it then so had the panel of Judges, so had the holonet cameras and so had all the beings across the Galaxy who were watching this trial.

Then the look fell away; his eyes slowly blinked and became unfocused, he swallowed and grimaced and he was just Luke again. He looked tired, drawn and distrait just as he had through the majority of this ordeal.

He was just Luke and she had to get him out of this.

ooOOoo

Vader turned at the distortion in the Force, at the twist of humour that rippled from his son as the thin Horaarn presented his case. There was genuine mirth, a joke that only Luke understood but it was underscored by simmering anger and bitter malice. It was darkness, it was power and it was within his son.

Then the feelings were gone; voided by fatigue and a weary acceptance.

_… it was his fault… his fault they were dead… let him say what he wants… womp-rat…_

The Dark Lord frowned at the disjointed thoughts and feelings that his son was unwittingly exposing.

Womp-rat?

And then he looked at the Horaarn; the man was in full spiel, railing against the boy standing trembling on the podium. In that instant he grinned, old scars pulling at the movement, as he saw what his son had seen; the thin, narrow face. The sharp pointed nose, the tuft of black hair and the sharp teeth protruding from narrow lips.

Womp-rat.

He struggled to hold back the wave of humour that rose from deep within. A genuine laughter bubbled from the back of his throat but he suppressed it with astonished anger, surprised at the surge of amusement. He gathered the Force to him, smothering the laughter; mirth had no place here, such feelings were beneath him now, they had been banished and scattered on the floor of the chancellor’s office when he had knelt before Palpatine…

…and yet he couldn’t help but feel an affinity with Luke, couldn’t help but feel that he had just experienced his first moment of real understanding, that he had, somehow, connected with his son.

“Fact: with like-minded criminals he broke into an Imperial Prison facility and released the Princess Leia Organa from legitimate custody, murdering…”

Vader tore himself from thoughts of his son, berating himself for allowing his mind to wander and for his thoughts to become unfocused. He fixed his attention on the Horaarn Representative, the man he had entrusted to legally secure his son.

“Objection!” The Princess called angrily. Vader could sense her unease, her disquiet; could see it plainly within her tense posture. “Your Honour….”

“My apologies,” the Horaarn bowed and continued, “… ‘unlawfully killed’ her guards.” He smiled at Leia as he continued and Vader had to concede that the man was good at his job; unlikeable, oily and unctuous, but good at what he was doing even if that task was to take his son apart before the court and before Galaxy.

No matter, for darkness would restore him.

“He was the pilot who destroyed the Empire’s experimental space station as it entered the Yavin System…”

Again Leia was on her feet. “The Death Star had already destroyed Alderaan and…”

“Sit down, Your Highness!” The Chief Justice, Imira’en called.

“Your honour,” Leia pleaded, grief for her home world still paining her. “Luke did the Galaxy a favour or more worlds would have been obliterated!”

Lapte’cka spun around, face read with anger. “You see, your Honour! That is the belief of those who disrupt this Galaxy with war,” he was pointing at Leia now. “Skywalker killed over one million on that Space Station and, we are told, celebrated afterwards!”

Imira’en hammered his gavel. “The representatives will remember where they are and conduct themselves accordingly.” He glared down at Leia. “You objected to the People’s Representative interrupting your allotted time and now you feel obligated to do the same after I have given him permission to continue with the Convicted’s background.

“Do you dispute the facts the Representative is presenting?”

Vader leaned forward, eager to hear Organa’s response. Surprisingly she turned to him and glared as she answered. “Not the facts, your Honour,” Her voice was like ice, “just how they are being presented.”

She slowly sat, defeated.

The People’s Representative, drew in a breath and glanced once more at his target, determined to tear another strip from the Rebel Pilot.

“Let us jump forward, shall we,” he suggested, “we shall not mention details of the skirmishes and deaths he was involved in at Ralltiir, Chorax or Corellia, nor the chaos and destruction he has been party to on Dantooine, Hasthaal and Mimban as, frankly, I do not have enough time to mention them all. Instead, we will jump forward to Escaal where he was involved in an attack on the planet’s Industrial complex.

“Fact: homes destroyed and civilian lives were lost when a fire storm erupted from his squadron’s bombing of a munitions factory. It blew into the underground storage facilities setting off a series of massive explosions that obliterated a residential area; men, women and children gone. Human, Twi’lek, Gran, Bothan…. All species… all gone.

“He was shot down. Rescued by the so called Resistance Network, led by Major Erwin Rhovan under the code name of Dade. A man who donned the uniform of the Empire, but who was an insurgent at heart. We have already established that Skywalker knew what he was.

“Fact: while on the run from the Empire he took part in the terrorist bombing of another residential area. This one housed the families of Imperial Officers. Families…. The system commander’s teenage son” Another pause for dramatic effect.

Another flash through the Force and Vader could feel sorrow and regret drift from his son. It seemed that here Luke agreed with Lapte’cka.

“It was soon after this that he was captured and was, rightfully, facing justice. However, thanks to the Princess Leia Organa, we know that Major Rhovan and Skywalker staged his interrogation. We know Skywalker endured the enhanced questioning techniques…,” he turned around to the panel of Judges as they watched and listened to him. “Think about that, Your Honours, think of his fanaticism, his radicalism that he has to able to tolerate something that would break any other man.

He turned on the hologram of Leia, his face angry, eyes sparking, almost shouting. “He was no innocent… he was a guilty man seeking escape and he submitted to his colleague, he accepted and was complicit in his own, as the Princess Leia would have us called it, ‘torture.’ And all the while it was a ruse designed to aid an escape from legitimate justice.”

Lapte’cka fell silent and crossed the room to his and Vader’s table. He lifted a glass of water and took a few sips. Calmly he placed the glass back down, swapped data pads and, turning to the court, he continued.

“Fact: he returned to the Rebel Alliance where he has been reprimanded for disobeying orders. Fact: he attacked a superior officer and was under arrest before travelling to Horaarn. Fact… he took part in the attack on the Cusrean Space Station. Fact: he destroyed the station just as he did at Yavin.”

A bony finger again pointed at Luke, accusing. “He has already admitted that he knew the inhabitants of the Cusrean Space Station were innocent,” his voice loud, firm and unyielding. “…and that he fired upon them in the _full_ knowledge that his target was not legitimate and that his orders were unlawful.

“The Princess has played us the recording from the cockpit of his fighter, arguing about the stresses he was under. All she has done is prove the convicted’s guilt. You heard him yourselves. You heard when he realised that there were only innocent beings on board and he made the decision to fire regardless.”

Lapte’cka turned, tapped a finger on his datapad. “If it pleases the court, I shall run through actions that he could have taken,” he stepped into the middle of the floor and stood looking up at Luke. “He was the squad second in command, a Lieutenant Commander, he could have countermanded his orders. He could have relieved his superior of his authority and assumed it himself. In doing so he could have ordered his squad to break off the attack.

“If this had been unsuccessful he could have turned his own guns against his squad and protected the Space Station. He did not….” Lapte’cka paused, still staring at Luke. “Instead, he put the lives of his squad above the lives of over twenty thousand innocent beings. Of which one hundred and five were Horaarn Relief workers. Volunteers who had given up their time, and ultimately their lives, to help end the suffering of the Cusrean people.”

Vader watched Luke’s throat bob as he struggled to swallow. He could feel his son’s twisting emotions, his guilt and remorse and his realisation that the Horaarn Representative was right; these were all things he could have done, but didn’t.

In the heat of the battle, they hadn’t even crossed his mind.

The Horaarn stood still, dipped his head in feigned grief, and allowed the information to hang. “There is no doubt of the Convicted’s guilt. The attack happened in Cusrean space – no one questions that, the vast majority of deaths were Cusrean, but we lost over a hundred of our own. The Convicted confessed because he is guilty and he had no wish to fight an appeal.”

Lapte’cka turned on his heels. “The Princess Leia would have you believe that he suffered from a diminished capacity, that he was not in control of himself. The recordings did not demonstrate that, no matter how much she argues that they do. The Princess would have you believe that the bruises on the Convicted’s throat are the result of Lord Vader’s efforts to coerce Skywalker into agreeing not to appeal. I’m afraid the reality of how the Convicted became to be bruised is not quite as the Princess portrayed… but it does further demonstrate Luke Skywalker’s true character, as does his answer to Lord Vader when his Lordship asked him why he destroyed the station.

“The recording you are about to see is from the Imperial holding facility that is housed below the penitentiary. The convicted was taken there for his own protection following the attempt on his life after the committee hearing. He was given medical attention and brought to a holding cell to rest. This is what happened next….

“Run the recording.”

Vader allowed a regulated breath to cool his growing anticipation. He knew after Lapte’cka conclusion that there would be no doubt of the verdict, no doubt of the outcome.

After he had presented his own piece of evidence, there would be no escape for his son.

ooOOoo

Ehlen Anders shifted on the worn sofa. She sat forward, hands on her knees, horrified by the events playing out on the holonet. The Princess Leia was right; the facts could not be disputed, but the twist placed on them could. Luke was being portrayed as cold blooded mass murder, rather than a young man thrown into the horrors of war. He was being stripped of his humanity and accused of participating in his own torture. It was outrageous, it was contemptible and, Ehlen had to admit, it was working.

Even those who knew Luke had quietened as the Horaarn had spoken. They all knew the truth, they all knew Luke in one way or another, but they could feel the spell that the Representative was weaving in that court room. His words had truth, even if his meaning behind them did not.

Mon Mothma was pensive, her face grey. Therriman had stopped talking about Luke’s emotional and mental state and now stared at the monitor with appalled fascination. Captain Sa’adaan picked at the dewflaps at his jowls, his mood nervous, his eyes black and dull.

Rieekan had walked out, refusing to watch any more. Asking them to call him “when it’s done.”

“Please run the recoding…”

Ehlen rubbed at her eyes, pinched at her nose, before reluctantly looking at the screen again as shouting suddenly emanated from the speakers. She sharply inhaled at what she saw on the projected hologram; Luke was fighting, writhing with two guards who were manhandling him into a cell. There was a chair they were attempting to sit him in, there was blond man standing behind it wearing the uniform of an Interrogation Specialist, there was a durasteel line hanging from the ceiling.

She watched in horror as Luke was thrown into the chair, only to bolt back up. He was shouting, cursing; she could hear Basic, Huttese, Corellian. He was blocked by Vader, caught again by the guards and dragged back to the chair. They struggled to undo his cuffs as Luke flailed against them. With a yell of frustration he threw out his hands and inexplicably the guards were knocked away as though pushed by tremendous force.

Ehlen’s eyes widened. That’s because it _was_ the Force. Luke had called upon his Jedi powers. Lost, panicked, he had reached out for his only defence. Suddenly, freed from grasping hands, Luke staggered forward only to be caught by Vader’s hand around his throat.

The recording paused, flickered and died.

And Ehlen found her own hand going to her throat.

The camera’s focused on the Horaarn. He looked stern. “He was trying to escape,” he said, simply, gravely. “He found himself facing the fate he deserves for his crimes and he tried to escape, violently using his Jedi magic to assault the guards who were only doing their jobs. Lord Vader stopped him, instinctively lifting his hand and accidently catching the Convicted around the throat as he made for the door.

“A very simple explanation for the bruises, I think your Honours will agree.” The Horaarn spread his palms, body language portraying openness and honesty. “If I have the court’s indulgence, My Lords, just one more recording and I shall relinquish the floor to Lord Vader.”

Ehlen swallowed, wondering what else they could possibly subject Skywalker, too.

Lights flickered on the screen and they saw Luke tied into the same chair he had been trying to avoid. He was agitated, pained. Vader was pacing around him and Luke was looking anywhere but at the Dark Lord.

Vader towered over him, demanding. _“You felt them! Innocent beings, blown apart. Children scattered across cold space. Why did you destroy the station?”_

 _“No….”_ Luke moaned, turning his head in and away, clearly struggling, distraught.

 _“Why Luke?”_ Vader’s voice was a snarl, an order not to be disobeyed. The Dark Lord’s hands landed on Luke’s shoulders, blood was seeping through the shirt he wore from a wound underneath. Luke called out, yelped and Ehlen was sure it wasn’t just bodily pain he was railing against, there was so many other demons that Luke was fighting; not just the one physically before him.

Vader stooped down until his head was level with Luke’s and Ehlen shuddered at the thought of being so close to the monster.

And Luke raised his head, stared straight back at the man and screamed. It was a visceral noise, dredged from deep within. His face twisted with hatred and anger.

_“It was in my way!”_

On the screen, in the court room, the Horaarn representative had raised his voice, was angrily gesturing at Luke. Ehlen could hear snatches of words… “evil,” “malicious,” “deliberate intent,” but in the small office Luke’s howled confession hung in the air.

“Dear Gods….” Mothma whispered in dismay.

Ehlen found herself in agreement with the Leader of the Rebellion. Initially all she had seen was a terrified boy, desperately fighting to avoid a similar situation from the one he had been subjected too only a few short weeks before, not a hardened criminal trying to escape. Then she had seen a young man struggling with the consequences of actions, just as she had seen him struggle in the debrief after the battle. He had known then what he had done, he had known before Rieekan had told him, and she remembered the shattered water jug, the sound of the running and dripping water as it dribbled from the table top. She had recognised then how tenuous his grip on his powers were, and it would seem that Vader had recognised the same and, where she and Rieekan had held back, Vader had pushed.

_“It was in my way!”_

How true was that statement? How much of that did Luke actually believe, or had he buckled to Vader and given him what he thought that Dark Lord wanted?

And Ehlen knew she would never have the opportunity to get her answers, she glanced numbly back at the screen. The hologram of the Princess was on her feet again, calling the recordings outrageous and the Representatives explanation of them a misinterpretation of what they had seen.

“I know what they are doing,” Therriman whispered from beside her as the camera focused on Luke once more. The pilot looked like he was struggling to stay on his feet, his whole body was trembling with the exertion of standing for so long under hot lights, under such emotional and mental pressures. His head was bowed, his jaw clenched tightly, muscles bunched and a drip of sweat dropped from his nose. The camera swept around him and Ehlen saw him work his wrists in the tight handcuffs, saw the dark bruising and abrasions the metal caused as it rasped into his skin and she saw blood soak the bandage that was wound around his hand.

Therriman didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have, too. She knew what they were doing, too. They had placed Luke into the same situation he had escaped from, they had worn him down with insinuation and perceived threats. Luke wasn’t fighting his appeal, wasn’t fighting the extradition because they had snatched his hope away from him and left him with nothing.

Escaal hadn’t broken Luke. Cusrean hadn’t broken Luke.

On the screen that Horaarn Representative stood again. “Your Honours, the People need say no more. The Convicted is guilty and should face the harshest of punishments. The people demand the death penalty.” He paused and glanced at Vader. “However, the people recognise the validity of the Cusrean People’s request to have the Convicted extradited to face justice with the Empire and we will not appeal if that should be your considered decision.”

Horaarn had broken Luke.

ooOOoo

Rubbing the small of his back and favouring his left leg Rhovan stepped from the turbolift into the brig of the Executor. He stood for a moment, glancing around, noting the surveillance cameras, the guards placed strategically about the atrium and behind the central console. Like the Executor itself the detention centre was bigger than any other capital ship Rhovan had been aboard with several cell corridors leading off from the central reception area.

He could feel the curious glances and, in some cases the blatant stares, of the personnel as he continued to stand in the centre of the entrance. Despite the pressed uniform and polished boots and new regulation hair cut Rhovan knew he still looked rough. He knew that if his new staff looked too closely they would see the bruises on his wrists from binders, knew he was slightly hunched and knew the contusions on his face were yellowing as they healed. He didn’t care what they thought of him, what they had seen on the monitors that were tuned into the holonet instead of the cells and on which Skywalker’s court appearance still played out. He had a job to do here.

He drew in breath as a young, sharp faced lieutenant stepped forward.

“Major Rhovan, sir….”

At least he was polite, at least he showed no animosity despite the unasked questions that toned his words.

“… welcome to the Executor.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” his voice was still rough from the screams Velaptor had wrung from him. “What is our status?”

A flash of uncertainty coloured the man’s face. “We currently have five prisoners, sir, in low security. Crew members guilty of misdemeanours and…”

Rhovan turned on his heels and looked around. “I am not interested in the crew,” his words were clipped, impatient. “Show me maximum security. Show me where we will keep Skywalker.”

The Lieutenant glanced at the monitors and Rhovan couldn’t help but follow the look. The Princess Leia was on her feet, protesting something and Rhovan had to wonder what he had missed and how important it was.

Could he use it against Luke once the pilot was back in his custody?

“This way, sir,” the Lieutenant gestured and reluctantly Rhovan turned away from the scenes of the court room.

He followed the young officer impressed by the double set of blast doors that opened before them revealing yet another cell corridor. This one was shorter, had fewer cells and, Rhovan noted more staff; every cell had a guard posted outside even although they were empty. He turned to the Lieutenant for an explanation, the question clear in his raised eyebrow.

The young man was quick and Rhovan found that he liked him, but the explanation contained some information that chilled him.

“Captain Velaptor thought that having a high staff ratio would demonstrate to Skywalker that this time he would not be escaping, that it would damage his defences and…”

Velaptor… Rhovan had to fight against showing his twist of revulsion as a shudder.

“And what do you think, Lieutenant?”

The young man tensed at the anger in Rhovan’s voice. “I, uh… in other circumstances, sir, I would agree with the captain…”

As would Rhovan.

“….however, we have been watching the court proceedings and I doubt Skywalker will need much pressure before he submits.”

Even without the trial, even without the humiliation of being paraded before the galaxy, Skywalker wouldn’t last long in one of these cells. But, as hateful as Velaptor was, he was also a shrewed son of a bantha…

“The guards stay,” he said as he walked down the corridor passing several closed doors before he stopped before one and palmed it open. The door was narrow, heavy and, as it rose, Rhovan ducked and stepped down into the cell.

It was larger than he had expected. It was perhaps three metres wide, 5 metres long with high ceilings; enough room to swing a baton he noted. He turned in the space, his heel scraping on the floor grating, as he took in the orange glow that bled into the area from below his feet, the rough grey durasteel walls and the surveillance systems high above and out of reach. There was no bunk, no ‘fresher facility and, glancing up he assumed there was shower facility to cleanse the cell and to keep the prisoners awake – just like Escaal.

He walked around the walls, hands trailing across the coarse walls, fingers tracing the fine lines that hinted of hidden things. “Equipment?”

Sounding uneasy the Lieutenant spoke from the doorway. “It’s all there, sir,” he cleared his throat at Rhovan’s expression that clearly said ‘tell me more.’ “There are benches enclosed in the walls, restraints, stun cuffs, life sign monitoring, lie detection systems. We have a choice of droids and supplies of drugs; Bavo six, Theohexium, stim-shots and…”

Rhovan nodded absently as the man talked. Here there was no separate holding cell as on Escaal and below on Horaarn, here interrogation and incarceration took place in one room.

“We’ll use this one for Skywalker,” Rhovan ordered. It was midway down the corridor, Luke would have to be walked past several cells before being turned and pushed into this one. “I want full monitoring and life sign analysis…”

“Lord Vader has already transmitted medical details of the subject, sir.”

Rhovan turned at that, nodded. Of course Vader would take an interest in his son’s interrogation. Of course Vader would not entirely trust him…

_He’s still to talk with you, too… He’s still to have the discussion that Piett advised would happen…_

Rhovan shook off the thoughts. It didn’t matter. In this moment his job was to prepare for Skywalker’s arrival not to worry about anything Vader might say to him.

He had a last look around, wondering how many hours he would be spending in the room with Luke, before stepping up and out into the corridor. He strode on, back toward the central atrium with the Lieutenant trailing a step behind.

“Where is Captain Velaptor?”

“He is currently off duty, sir.”

Rhovan turned on the younger man. “He is to be kept away from Skywalker, no interference. You will arrest him and hold him if he so much as mentions the Rebel. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

Rhovan held the young man’s eye for a moment making sure he understood the order and was sincere in his answer. Satisfied he glanced around the atrium, heard muted arguments from the monitor speakers, could clearly hear Leia Organa plead with the Horaarn Judges. He knew her words would have no effect on the outcome.

“Where is my office?”

“This way, sir.”

Again Rhovan followed the younger man eager to have his own space, eager to turn on the holonet and catch up with the trial; to watch what he had missed.

In a few short hours Skywalker would be his prisoner, his subject, once more and he would do his duty. What was it he had told Luke back on Ardalii?

_“I would do it again.”_

ooOOoo

It would soon be over.

It had to be over soon.

Didn’t it?

Luke wearily closed his eyes, tired beyond anything he thought possible. He had lost track of how long he stood under the hot lights on the same spot as his character was ripped to shreds, as his failings were laid bare for a whole galaxy to see and to judge. His shoulders, pulled back by his hands being bound behind his back, ached uncomfortably. His back, healed over these last few weeks, cramped with a pain that squeezed around his abdomen making it difficult to breathe. His knife wound throbbed in time with his heartbeat, flared with every shallow breath. His legs trembled with the exertion of the forced stance and his head pounded, the pain settling in and growing behind his eyes.

_Not long now._

_Right?_

_The damage was done. Almost over._

_Not long._

Colours danced behind his eyelids, a kaleidoscope of hues and tints cavorting in the darkness. Sounds were muffled and indistinct and he suddenly felt cold, suddenly felt chilled under the heat of the lights.

Luke opened his eyes, blinked rapidly to clear the watery haze, but the court room slowly turned around him with a stomach-sickening loop and his strength failed him, the floor rushed him.

_Stay…up…._

A hand caught his arm, a voice murmured in his ear, as he was drawn to his feet. “Stay with us.”

He turned his head, saw a gloved hand on his arm, and glanced up into the face of one of his Horaarn guards.

He nodded, his head clearing, the man’s presence and care giving him the strength to stand once more.

_Not long, now. Not long…_

_I can do this…_

_I need to do this…._

Luke straightened his back, raised his chin and stared at the green flag with the golden letters that adorned the wall behind his panel of Judges.

He could hear Leia. She sounded upset. She sounded dismayed and angry. He could hear knocking, a quick rapid sequence of hammering from the middle judge that silenced the princess. He’d need to tell Han that’s how to shut her up…

He squashed the sudden swell of giggles that threatened to burst through.

_No, don’t laugh… it wouldn’t look right…_

They would think him insane.

Maybe he was.

The guard was still holding his arm, was still there with him. That was good of him.

He took is a shaky breath, aware of his rambling mind, aware of how close he was to losing it completely.

He blinked away sweat, trying to blink away the pressure in his head, in his mind. He had to focus, he had to…

_Stay up…_

_Not long now._

“…. Walker? Com….an… der…. Skywalker?”

Fingers squeezing on his arm and the guard’s voice again, whispering in his ear, warning. “Pay attention.”

Luke stiffened, head clearing a little, suddenly aware that his rank had been called. His name had been called.

He forced his eyes to look to the Chief Justice and found the man staring down at him, brows pulled together looking either worried or angry; Luke wasn’t sure which.

“Are we boring you Lieutenant Commander?”

Angry then.

Luke shook his head, licked his dry lips with his dry tongue, tried to speak and managed a hoarse, “No, sir.”

The Judge glanced to the guard by his side. “Please ensure that the Convicted remains on his feet and awake.”

There was movement behind him, cloth rustling and the guard beside reached down to his colleagues and took something from them. Luke glanced down, saw the hypospray in the man’s hand and smiled in recognition. A stim-shot…

His head was angled to the side and the hypo felt cool as it pressed against the skin of his neck. There was puff, a brief sting and his mind suddenly cleared, his body suddenly felt strengthened.

The guard stepped down, leaving him alone on the platform as the Chief Justice began to speak.

“Lord Vader, we have seen and heard evidence from Representative Lapte’cka and from the Convicted’s representative, do you have anything else to add in support of your petition for the Convicted’s extradition?”

Vader drew his bulk from the chair and stood. “I do, your Honour.” He turned his black mask to regard the standing prisoner.

Luke kept his chin up, kept his eyes focused ahead, fought the urge to return the stare.

“I have just one additional piece of evidence. You have seen and heard several recordings that have the Convicted admitting his guilt and his reasoning for firing the shot. All have clearly established that the crime was committed in Cusrean space against the Cusrean people, but not all have captured the true essence of the Convicted, the black heart of Luke Skywalker…”

Luke scoffed; Vader was one to talk. He chanced at glance at Leia, found her watching Vader Vader with concern… no, not concern… dread. She was sitting back, watching the Dark Lord, and absently chewing the nail of her thumb. She knew something, she feared something, but what could possibly be worse than the evidence already presented.

“…I, too, gained a copy of Skywalker’s cockpit voice recording. However, unlike the Princess Organa, I am not afraid to play it to the end.”

Leia’s eyes flicked to him and Luke tried to hold her gaze, tried to silently ask what was going on, but her hologram looked away, unable to look at him any longer.

Leia couldn’t look at him. Leia had turned away from him. Quiet panic beat within his chest as a buzz of static broke within the stillness of the court room, and then he could hear his own voice.

_“Wedge, Hobbie, form up. Let’s do this and go home.”_

And he suddenly knew what Leia knew…. He knew what he was about hear. He knew what the Galaxy was about to learn about him.

He hung his head, truly defeated.

And he heard his own harsh breathing from the exhilaration of the battle… he heard the subtle click as he fingered the trigger, heard the muted blast of the torpedos launching… and then a pause and in his minds-eye he could see the twin rockets race toward the space station, could feel the motion of the X-Wing as he turned it away in anticipation of the explosion.

There was quiet and then… he heard his gasp as the station burst apart and then he heard his laughter.

As over twenty thousand people burned, he had laughed.

It was a cackle, a crow of delight. A sound of joy and glee.

_When the Flames arose I felt….pleasure…_

He had laughed because the deaths felt good, they had given him release, and now the whole Galaxy knew how he had truly felt when he had turned his guns on innocent beings.

Suddenly he wished that Thecla were here. That she would come to him and find him so he could put his arm around her and draw her close, take comfort that she was with him just as he had on Ardralii only a few days before.

 _“I’m sorry they died,”_ she had said, talking of her own tragedy. _“I’m sorry I killed them. But I’m not sorry that I lived. I lived.”_

And Luke had to wonder where she was now, if she had seen this and if she still felt the same way.

_Leia had turned away from him._

There was silence in the court as the last strains of laughter died away and the recording shut off. Luke tried to swallow, but his mouth was so dry he merely choked and gagged on nothing.

The silence dragged, broken only by Vader’s regulated breathing and the shuffles of uncomfortable court officials.

Finally, drawing himself to his full height, Vader addressed the row of Judges.

“The people of Cusrean, and the Empire, trust that the honoured Justices will deliberate fairly and will come to the right conclusion,” Luke refused to look at him, refused to be caught by the blank stare of that terrible mask, “and that Luke Skywalker be given over to the Empire’s keeping to face Justice and punishment for his crimes.”

The Dark Lord bowed his head to the panel and sat.

Luke licked his lips, his heart beginning to race from the stimulant in his blood stream, from the understanding that his ordeal was drawing to a close…

_….or just beginning…_

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, quickly cutting off that thought. He didn’t want to think of that, not yet…

Not yet…

Again the quiet dragged until the Chief Justice cleared his throat and, leaning over and looking down upon Luke, he addressed the waiting prisoner.

“Does the Convicted have anything to say in his defence?”

Luke worked his parched throat, trying to clear the jam that clogged it, wanting his voice to be clear, heard. He kept his head straight and his eyes on the panel of Judges, feeling both Leia’s and Vader’s eyes on him.

“I… I have no defence, your honour,” he stated, relieved that his voice worked. He thought he sounded tired, hoarse, but resolute. “However, I would like to make a statement if I may?”

Chief Justice Imira’en briefly conferred with his fellow judges. Then he waved his hand. “Go ahead.”

ooOOoo

Ehlen Anders shot a glance at her companions. They were all tense, all torn, all worried about what Skywalker was about to say.

Ehlen had a feeling she knew what the boy was about to do and she had to admire his courage.

ooOOoo

Rhovan sat back in his chair, watching with rapt interest as Luke bravely faced his fate. He had to admit that he was surprised by the boy’s show of strength and then he had to wonder why this was. Why was he surprised when he had seen Luke rally like this before, had seen him on the verge of collapse only to pull sharply back and face what was before him with obstinacy and audacity?

Skywalker was, if nothing else, resilient and determined. Even when events seemed bleak and hopeless, Luke seemed to find the strength to endure even as he suffered for it.

The boy just didn’t know when to give up.

ooOOoo

Thecla had no idea what was happening inside the court building as she approached it in the shuttle; allowing her co-pilot to manoeuvre the Lambda Class vessel into their prescribed trajectory. She could see the building in the distance; the huge domed roof was running with water now as the snow melted and bright light gleamed into the dimming evening sky. They had been called in and that meant time was running out for Luke

ooOOoo

Leia didn’t care if the holocameras picked up and broadcast Han’s hands into the courtroom as, again, they laid gently on her shoulders. She needed him there, she needed his strength and his comfort.

ooOOoo

Dawn was sending the first tendrils of natural light into the skies above Imperial Central, but darkness remained in Palpatine’s chambers with the only illumination coming from the flickering holo player on his desk.

He smiled, grinned, feeling the Force ebb and flow. It was deep and dark like ocean depths; go too far and it would crush you, just as it was about to crush Luke Skywalker.

ooOOoo

At first there was nothing, his mind blank, all his rehearsed speeches suddenly out of his reach. Luke took a deep breath and reached for the Force to steady himself, ignoring the shadows on the periphery of his feelings, ignoring Vader’s presence.

“I would…” he stalled, his voiced stilted and unsure. Another breath. “I take full… sole, responsibility for the destruction of the Cusrean Space Station.” His voice was getting stronger, his conviction clear and confidence growing, fuelled by his belief that he was doing the right thing. The Alliance planned and staged the assault based on the intelligence they gained, believing that there was a genuine imminent threat to the security of the Galaxy. The Alliance to Restore the Republic acted in good faith and should bear no responsibility.”

He paused, his head high, his eyes bright. “As you heard from the recordings the Princess Leia and Lord… Lord Vader provided, I alone knew the station posed no threat and that my orders were, therefore, illegal. It was I who obeyed those orders and it was I alone who killed those people,” he faltered, head dropping. “My behaviour before the attack… during it… and since… was unbecoming from what is expected of an Officer of the Alliance and… I… I hereby resign my commission with immediate effect…”

ooOOoo

“What is he doing?” Sa’adan wanted to know.

“Damage control,” Mon Monthma said sadly, glancing at Ehlen Ander’s drawn and pale expression. She knew that the Intelligence officer had understood Luke’s tactic before the boy had even began to speak. There was no doubt Skywalker had courage, no doubt that he was taking the only option that was open to him. Sorrowfully, she added, “He’s giving us permission to do what you suggested two days ago, Captain. He’s giving us permission to disavow him.”

And she could only hope that, somehow, Rhovan was close by and in a position to act.

ooOOoo

“An apology will never make amends for my actions. It will not lessen the pain of those who lost loved ones, but I offer it nonetheless. I apologise to the people of Cusrean and…” He stared at Imira’en, the Chief Justice, determined to follow through on his chosen course of action’ for Leia, for Han, for the Alliance. “… I am ready to face the consequences of my actions.”

Again the quiet, and Luke blew out a little breath, relieved, glad that his speech was over. It wasn’t what he had rehearsed in his mind, it wasn’t the words he had wanted to say, but it was the same message and it would have to do.

“Very well…,” the Chief Justice glanced around at his colleagues. “Are the esteemed gentlemen ready with their verdicts and the decisions with regards to the extradition requests, or do you need more deliberation time?”

Luke watched as each nodded or shook their heads, fingers tapped vigorously as they entered information to their datapads to be collected centrally. He could feel his legs trembling again, could feel the anxiety twist in his belly and he drew himself as straight and as proud as he could; ready to face his fate.

Imira’en read his own screen, his face dark and his eyes heavy. He glanced up at Luke, eyes skirting across to Vader before looking back down at his screen.

Finally, he placed the datapad down, fixed Luke with his stern stare and delivered the verdict of the court.

“The Princess Leia has attempted to persuade the court that you are a man who has suffered, and that, as a consequence, you were not in complete control of you mental capacity and emotions during the attack. While the court recognises that you appear to be struggling with both we are of the firm belief that this is due to the circumstances in which you now find yourself and not a result of your incarceration on Escaal. We therefore reject her petition of extradition to the Alliance and we also reject her plea of innocence and your conviction stands.

“Luke Skywalker, it is the opinion of this court that you acted wilfully and maliciously during the battle of Cusrean. As you admit, you acted in the full knowledge that there was no danger to yourself or your colleagues from the people within the Space Station. You admitted to Lord Vader that the space station was in your way. You, young sir, were out for blood that day and it was blood that you got.

“You are guilty of the murders of twenty-thousand four hundred and fifty-two innocent souls of which one hundred and five were Horaarn. People who had sought refuge and sanctuary on board the station only to have their lives snatched from them by a man who then laughed and celebrated his actions…. Taking joy from the destruction and the deaths.

“It is, therefore, the unanimous judgement of this court that you, Luke Skywalker, be put to death.”

Luke swallowed; a nerve pulsed in his cheek.

The Chief Justice paused, lifted his datapad and read on, before continuing his speech. “However, we have also had to consider the petition from the Cusrean People for your extradition to the Empire of which Cusrean is a loyal system and, as Representative Lapte’cka and Lord Vader have demonstrated, there is more than sufficient evidence to support that extradition. Horaarn and Cusrean have known only friendship for a millennia and we are not about to jeopardise our relationship over one man.

“So,” he sat back, his job almost done, “bearing that in mind, we hereby suspend your death sentence in favour of the Cusrean extradition request and your fate is being placed firmly within the judiciary of the Empire. We have granted the extradition and order that you be immediately placed into Lord Vader’s custody and removed from this court, this city and from this planet.”

The Judge lifted his gavel and brought it down for one final strike.

 

ooOOoo

To be continued......


	16. Absolute Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Horaarn court has found in favour of Vader's extradition request and Luke is placed into the Dark Lord's custody. Now Han and Leia must return empty handed to the Alliance - if they can manoeuvre past Vader's waiting fleet. 
> 
> Vader must now take possession of his son and see him safely transported to the Executor where Rhovan is waiting.
> 
> Sometime sacrifices have to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All Star Wars characters and situations belong solely to Lucasfilm/Disney. I make no financial gain from fan fiction - but I do have a lot of fun!

**Dark Times: Chapter 6**

 

**Absolute**

**Part 8**

 

“Your Honour!”

Leia leapt to her feet, shrugging Solo’s hands from her shoulders as she loudly protested the verdict. “Your honour, I…”

Her words caught in her throat and she stared at the holo equipment, abruptly realising that the transmitter was sending but that the receiver on the other end had been cut. She whirled around to the dejerick board and saw that there was no holo-projection from the court. It was just an empty gaming platform.

It was over.

“Luke…” she breathed in stunned disbelief, staring at the space on the board where his projection had stood. Was that it? Was that going to be last image she ever had of her friend, of the man who had opened the door of her cell on the Death Star and breathlessly announced his name and intention and saved her life?

She had known this could…

_…would…_

…happen. She had prepared herself for losing Luke, but the reality of it… the shock of it… it was numbing.

There was movement in her peripheral vision and her eyes found Haslam standing awkwardly by the entrance to the passenger compartment. The large soldier looked away, mumbled something about manning the belly gun and left the room.

“Leia?”

She twisted around, looked up, and found Han beside her. The Corellian’s face was grave, his eyes dark with pain and compassion. It was a look she had never seen on him before and she was abruptly aware that she had done this to him: she had done this because she had failed Luke. “Han… I’m sorry… I thought I could…”

He said nothing. He merely stepped closer and reached for her. He drew her in, drew her close. She laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and wrapped her arms around his waist. They stood quietly for a few minutes, each comforting the other but saying nothing, each knowing there was nothing to be said. Not now, not yet. There would be enough time later.

The moment was shattered by a baying call from Chewbacca in the cockpit and a frantic See-Threepio bustled into the compartment hands waving frantically.

“Captain Solo! Captain Solo… Horaarn control are asking for you!”

Han stepped away, his arms dropping to his sides. “This could be it... You ready?”

Leia took in a breath, nodded. “I’ll be in the turret,” she assured him, some strength returning to her voice, some determination.

He nodded and turned to follow the golden droid back to the cockpit.

The Princess stood alone, her eyes finding Artoo Detoo still sitting connected to the holotransmitting equipment. The little droid was quiet.

“Artoo?”

The dome spun and Artoo’s primary photoreceptor turned toward her with a muted tone, a mournful lament.

She laid a hand upon his dome, feeling the cool metal of the droid against her skin, feeling dull despair and heavy sadness.

_We’ve lost Luke._

“You can un-plug now.”

ooOOoo

The canopy of the X-Wing lowered and sealed. In the quiet of the cockpit, Wedge Antilles flicked switches and checked gauges as he listened to his engines fire and power up. He licked his lips, swallowed, adrenalin already flooding his system in anticipation for the coming skirmish. It was a simple brief: protect the Millennium Falcon and bug out.

But what of Luke? They’d had no access to the holonet in the hanger of the _Victory’s Flight_ and had relied on word of mouth for news of the continuing court case. That word was that it hadn’t been going well and the mood among the squad had grown grim and determined.

A brief burst of static interrupted his thoughts and Narra’s voice broke over the comm. “We’ve just heard… Luke’s been handed to Vader…” His voice was grave, angry. “The Bridge has also warned that Vader’s Death Squadron is currently slipping into the Horaarn system. They’re fanning out, encircling the planet. Looks like they are trying to cut off any escape route for the Falcon…” He paused, allowing the squad to vent their frustrations and fear at the news.

“Shit…” Ylanec, breathed.

“…or they have orders to protect any shuttle coming from the surface,” Narra continued. “Probably both. But, we have the element of surprise, they won’t be expecting us. Your orders are to blast the hell out of anything Imperial, locate the Falcon, protect it and get the Princess and yourselves out.”

“What about Luke?” Hobbie wanted to know.

There was silence, a brief hesitation, and Wedge could feel the grief of the squad.

“We can’t help Luke now,” Narra told them, his voice tight, angry. “But, he’d want us to get the Princess and Solo out of here and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“For Luke,” Hobbie vowed.

“For Luke,” Janson, choked.

“For Luke,” Ylanec echoed.

Wedge faltered, knowing what this was. This was a salute to a fallen comrade, this was an acknowledgement that Luke was lost to them, that he was gone. This was the last thing he wanted to do.

_Dammit, Luke isn’t dead!_

Luke was alive! Luke was still down there on the planet below. Luke would still be fighting. Luke would not give up so easily. He had a knack for getting out of tricky situations. Luke had already survived Imperial captivity, he could survive this, too.

_You saw him… you know what he’s been like…_

Antilles closed his eyes, listening to the soothing hum and whine of his engines, feeling anger tighten his gut, the need…. no... the _want_ for revenge and retribution and he couldn’t wait to get out there: couldn’t wait to blast a path through the Imperial Fleet.

_Shit, Skywalker, keep it together, buddy. We’ll get you out somehow…. Maybe not today, but we’ll find you and we’ll get you out._

Meanwhile, Luke would want the Princess safe.

“For Luke,” he acknowledged and smiled, conveying a lightness he didn’t really feel, but the squad needed to hear it, their spirits needed lifted, “and when he gets back he’s buying us a round of ale for putting us through this shit.”

“Hear, hear!” Hobbie crowed, laughing.

“Don’t know what you’re so happy about, Klivian, you still owe him twenty-five,” Janson reminded him.

“Crap! I’d forgotten about that!”

Wedge smiled again, feeling the mood of the squad lift and his comm crackled on a private channel.

“Nice one, Antilles,” Narra acknowledged.

Wedge merely nodded silently as he powered up his engines in readiness to slip from the hanger bay into the cold of space and the heat of battle.

ooOOoo

Rhovan drew the cap from his head and threw it onto the desk before him.

“Gods-dammit.”

He had known this would happen; there had been no other outcome for Skywalker, but still he cursed. Truth be told… he didn’t want to do this, just as he hadn’t wanted to interrogate and kill his own brother. However, in Luke’s case, as with Sam, he had no other option. He had to be above reproach, he had to be the dutiful Imperial and go that one extra step for his Emperor.

It was expected of him.

Sam had understood that. Luke Skywalker didn’t.

 _“Go,”_ the Lady Mon Mothma had said. _“Do what you have to do.”_

And here he was doing it, and he would continue doing it. No matter the consequences, no matter how distasteful his actions were; he would do it until he was either dead, or no longer required.

And what would he do then? He couldn’t return to Chalandria. Not now, not after everything he had done for the sake of the Empire, for the sake of the Rebellion.

He smiled, a small self-deprecating sound passing his lips. Was he really considering his life _after_ all this?

There would be no after…

Not for him.

The holonet screen on his desk continued to broadcast, the cameras bustling and jostling for the best position to capture Skywalker’s handover. There was no finesse to it, no ritual or ceremony. Stormtroopers simply flooded into the courtroom and dragged Luke from the rostrum. Looking dazed and confused he went with them, allowing them to manhandle him without a fight. They closed around him, two grasping his upper arms and walking him forward giving him no choice but to move with them. Vader fell in behind them and the procession flowed from the court room.

The door slid closed behind them and the rest of the dignitaries rose and dwindled out from the room.

It was over.

It was, Rhovan mused, a bit of an anti-climax and if the watching viewers had been looking for some more drama, had been looking for some reaction from Luke, then Skywalker had sorely disappointment them.

And Rhovan couldn’t tell if Luke’s passiveness was by deliberate design or if he was truly as lost as he looked. He had learned from Escaal that appearances with Skywalker could be deceptive, that the boy seemed to find strength and fight even when he seemed beaten and broken.

_“Do what you have to do.”_

Pushing back his chair, he rose and tugged down his jacket, straightening it. He lifted his cap and replaced it on his head. It wouldn’t be long before Vader arrived with Luke and Rhovan wanted to be there to meet the shuttle, just as he had on Escaal when he had first met Luke Skywalker.

This time Luke would be on his feet, not lying unconscious on the ground. This time Rhovan had to finish what he began on Escaal. This time he had to follow through and not hold back or pull away as he had on Escaal.

This time Luke would know what he was facing and from whom.

What was it Ayrn had said in that cell on Escaal months ago?

_“You really are a bastard, Rhovan.”_

Aryn never truly grasped how much of a bastard he could be, but Skywalker did.

ooOOoo

Palpatine switched off the holonet and rose from his desk, crossing the floor to the panoramic window that looked out across the city. He clasped his hands before him and bowed his head.

So, Vader’s scheme had worked and he had managed to secure the brat. He shrugged, robes rustling with the movement; not that it mattered.

His agent was in place and soon things would be as he had ordained them to be.

ooOOoo

There was a hush across the rebel base on Adralii; even the volcano had fallen still and silent as though it, too, were affected by the mournful mood. Elhen rubbed the back her neck and sat back into the couch, feeling that she had to say something, but she didn’t have any words, couldn’t find anything to say to appropriately sum up all she had witnessed.

She could do nothing but sit and watch the screen as Luke Skywalker was taken into Imperial custody once more.

Her eyes flickered to Mon Mothma. The older woman looked tired, drawn and unsettled; lost in her own thoughts.

The moments passed, the silence dragged until finally Mothma met her gaze and said what was on her mind.

“We’d better start the preparations for evacuation. Have Lieutenant Commander Skywalker’s access codes wiped from the systems, change hyperspace algorithms, contact all outposts and ships and place them on high alert.”

“I’ll see that it is done, Ma’am,” Ehlen assured her.

The Alliance Chief rose from her chair and slowly walked around her desk, trailing her fingers over the worn wroshyr wood. She glanced at Saa’dan. “Captain, please inform General Rieekan that it’s over and tell him we need to carefully word a media release distancing ourselves from the Lieutenant Commander’s actions over Cusrean.”

The Sullustan nodded. “Of course, Ma’am.” He pulled himself to his feet, made a small bow of his head to both women before turning on his heels and striding from the room.

Therriman also drew himself up and stretched, bones cracking as he did so. “I’ll start clearing out my office.” He hesitated, obviously uncomfortable. “Ah, what should I do with Luke’s records?”

“Seal them,” Mothma ordered, “and give them to Major Anders….”

Elhen glanced at her in surprise.

“… you never know when they may come in handy.”

Therriman looked confused, opened his mouth to ask a question, but closed it and just nodded before he too left the room leaving the two woman alone.

“You don’t expect them to execute Skywalker, do you?” Elhen challenged after the door closed after the psychologist.

Mon Mothma looked back at the holoplayer as the cameras cut to the outside of the courthouse and focussed on the main entrance where a Lambda class shuttle sat waiting in the court yard. “No,” she admitted, softly, “No, I don’t. I expect them to do much worse with Luke.”

ooOOoo

“You both in place?” Han asked, as he piloted the Falcon along the flight corridor he had been given by Horaarn control. They were above the city now, heading out of the troposphere, steadily climbing away from the surface of the planet.

Chewbacca grunted beside him and Han glanced at the sensors the Wookiee had indicated. Two more Horaarn ships had come up behind them to join the two in front and the two on either side of them. They were definitely being corralled and contained; it was obviously an attempt to discourage them from hightailing it to the court district in an attempt to rescue Luke.

_“Please, Han. Get her out. I can do this if you get her out.”_

He had promised his friend to do just as he asked, but it was killing him. Every instinct screamed to turn the Falcon around and blast through the ships that enclosed them to get back to Luke, but that same instinct also told him that it would be a futile gesture and that the odds of them getting near the kid would be impossible.

He knew he had to get the Princess out. He had to keep his promise to the kid.

“We’re all set.” Leia’s voice sounded tinny over the com, flattened. Or, perhaps, that was just how she was feeling. Maybe he should have manned one of the guns instead, brought her to the cockpit, leaving her with Chewie as he had done for the flight from the Death Star.

“We have two more birds at our back,” Han told her and Haslam. “They’ve boxed us in.”

“We see them,” Leia advised.

They climbed higher, quickly passing through the stratosphere and the mesosphere. The light faded and the darkness of space closed in.

Han licked his lips, glanced around the cockpit. “Hold together for us, baby…” he told the ship, knowing the Falcon was about to take a beating.

Chewbacca growled an agreement as he increased the density of the shielding.

Further on and the friction of atmosphere fell away, releasing the Falcon from the fading grip of gravity and Han’s sensors lit up with multiple contacts. He tensed, scanned the signals: it looked like an armada surrounding the system, but there were many civilian ships, freighters, private yachts, luxury liners and…

Several alarms went off as one….

“Heads up, we have two Imperial Destroyers and….”

The warning systems went into overdrive… the cockpit blazing with noise. Chewie wailed and Han automatically banked away from the wave of TIE fighters that filled his vision.

The ship bucked as warning shots from the Horaarn escorts strafed past and a voice over the comm warned. “Millennium Falcon you are not to deviate from your allocated path.”

Han ignored it, shouting. “Chewie, bring us about, set course, four-seven-two and….”

More warning shots and Han brought the Falcon back into their given path through the flotilla of ships.

“Han?” Leia called from the top turret.

“It’s fine…” he told her, grimacing, nervously watching the approaching fighters. “They just don’t want us to go any other way and I ain’t listening too well.”

“Chewie bring all secondary guns on line, set targeting to automatic, but hold off on release until I say. Haslam, Leia…”

The TIES roared past without firing a shot.

“What the…”

A corridor had been created for them through the myriad of ships that had collected in the system, waiting for the landing embargo to be lifted. Han watched each one warily as they passed. Sometimes moving so close to them that he could see curious faces staring out of view ports at the Falcon.

“I don’t like this, Chewie….” He muttered, unsettled. He would have almost preferred the TIE fighters to have opened fire. Action he knew and understood, but this silent journey was disturbing.

The seconds and minutes ticked by until the ships were behind them and space before them.

“Millennium Falcon, this is Horaarn Control.”

Han keyed the comm. “Go ahead.”

“You are free to plot your course, safe journey.”

Han’s brows knitted, concerned, watching the ships in front of him peel away and turn back to the planet. A visual check on his scanners showed the ships trailing them doing likewise. “Thanks control,” he acknowledge slowly, disbelief underscoring his words. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Was Vader keeping his word to Luke and just letting them go?

“Chewie, let’s set course two-eight-five and….”

Again multiple alarms erupted, light flashed.

“Han, more fighters coming up behind us!” Leia shouted.

“I see ‘em…. I see ‘em… they’ve come from the…”

More alarms… More fighters and…

“We have a capital ship, looks like a…” He trailed off, staring. It was huge: the same wedge shape as a Star Destroyer, but so much larger. Han knew what it was. “We’ve got ourselves a Super….”

“Vader’s ship,” Leia supplied.

“More TIEs!” Haslam interrupted, abruptly.

“They’ll drive us toward it and…”

Another set of squawking sirens. Han dropped the ship, pushing down on the controls only to find more Imperial cruisers boxing them in.

“We have a whole fleet out there!” Leia warned, alarm stealing her breath.

“I told the kid, Vader wouldn’t keep his word!” he growled, bringing the Falcon around and away from the approaching Imperial ships, only to find two more heading toward them. “Shit!” he cursed, “That’s a helluva lot of fire power out there!”

And yet not one shot had been fired.

“They wa… us …live.”

Haslam said Han’s thoughts aloud, his voice breaking up over the comm.

“Yeah,” Han agreed, thinking fast. The Imperials wanted them alive, that meant no shoot to kill order and that meant…. “but that doesn’t mean that we can’t shoot at them! Leia, Haslam… give ‘em hell! Chewie let loose the secondary guns. We need to cut a path through them to open space.”

The Falcon’s guns opened up. Streaks of deadly red light sliced through the TIE fighters. Brief explosions flared and died as fighter after fighter, pilot after pilot, burned and disintegrated.

The Falcon bucked as a barrage from behind raked across her shielding. Sparks flew from the console.

“Now they shoot back!” Han exclaimed as Chewie howled information at his Captain. “I know, I know…”

“Know what?” Leia shouted, triggering her guns and bring down another Imperial ship.

“They’re goin’ after the shields, they’re trying to disable us!”

“We have another wave!” Haslam called out in consternation.

“I see ‘em!” Han banked the ship away, spinning the Falcon to avoid more Imperial fire, flying on pure instinct. Again the sensors triggered alarms. “Ah… we have a Destroyer twenty clicks ahead….” The Falcon bounced under more fire. The shielding held but the output level dropped ten percent and Han knew they wouldn’t hold indefinitely. "They’re pushing us towards it, and…”

A blur of something flew past the cockpit at an incredible speed, spitting red laser bursts and carving through the TIE fighters that swarmed over the Falcon.

“What the…”

“Need any help, Captain?”

“Narra?” Han burst, grinning with relief at the appearance of Red Squadron. He sobered a little, wincing at another burst of light that brightened up the cockpit, before admitting. “We could use a little...”

ooOOoo

Luke was tired of standing. So very tired.

His back cramped, thigh muscles ached, and his head was pounding. Each beat of his heart sent a wave of nauseating pain through his skull. He wanted to rub at his temples, pinch the top of his nose and massage his fingers into the back of his neck, anything to try and ease the throbbing, but with his hands still firmly secured behind his back, any relief was impossible.

He was dehydrated, knew he needed water, but he also knew there would be none offered, not now, not anytime soon. They would want him in discomfort, would want him in pain, would want him confused and easy to manipulate.

Heaving in a breath, Luke closed his eyes and hung his head. He had thought that the end of his ordeal was in sight. That he would be taken from the court straight to Vader’s ship, but they had been standing in this hallway for a while now just…. waiting.

But waiting for what?

He opened his eyes, feeling Vader approaching and he glanced up, but Vader strode passed him without a look in his direction…

…and why did that disappoint him? Why did he want Vader’s attention? Shouldn’t that be the last thing he wanted?

He shook his head, then grimaced against the sharp pain that lanced from front to back. He swallowed back the surge of nausea, glad that he’d had nothing to eat all day, not wanting to gag and vomit in front of all the people who mingled in this hallway.

There were the troopers surrounding him, two still grasping his arms tightly, fingers digging to his flesh. There were Horaarn security guards standing in groups watching the Imperial troopers with, Luke thought, some suspicion. And there were court officials lingering around in their heavy, dark robes. No-one seemed to be doing very much and he was, again, aware of curious glances being thrown his way. He had also noticed that no-one had entered or left the building by the huge set of double doors that Luke knew from experience led into a large courtyard that was big enough for an Imperial Shuttle to land in.

He sighed, tired of waiting, tired of having to follow the instructions of others. He looked down at the floor. The dark marble beneath his feet looked a lot more comfortable option than all this standing around and he wondered what they would do if he just sat down.

He smiled; it was tempting.

The stone looked cold, if he could just lay his forehead against the cool surface, if he could just lie down for a few moments then…

The doors opened and Luke jerked his head up, his stomach twisting. Was this it, was this where he would be taken out, taken to Vader’s ship? Taken to a small dark cell where he would be…

_No! Not yet….. Don’t think that yet…_

What was his aunt once told him?

_“There is no used worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet.”_

As always his aunt’s words spoke of wisdom and tender affection.

_“You are his weakness, Luke and you have a strength within you that he craves…”_

He blinked at the echo of his aunt’s voice. The words that had been repeating over and over in his head since Escaal. Maybe he was going mad…

An Imperial officer rushed into the lobby, his eyes raking over Luke and his escorts, his expression unreadable. “Lord Vader!”

Vader turned. “What is the delay, Commander?”

And Luke thought Vader sounded angry. He shrugged then winced as the hands on his arms tightened their grips in response to his movement; didn’t Vader always sound angry?

“There has been a complication, my Lord,” The man sounded nervous now, he sounded reluctant and Luke couldn’t help but hope Vader was about to get some bad news. “We have not yet secured the Millennium Falcon. A small group of X-Wing fighters have…”

Luke chilled, took a step forward, as the Imperial officer’s words untangled in his head to make alarming sense. They were waiting here because…

_The Falcon! Han!_

He was dragged back. “Wait!”

_Leia!_

They were waiting here because Vader was still going after Leia.

“No!” he burst, yanking against the soldiers, wrenching his arms from their grips and stumbling forward within the phalanx of troopers, tripping on the chains around his ankles. He almost went down, but anger drove him, fear rushed him and, as the solders grabbed at his arms again, he roared at Vader “You said you would let them go! You said you would…”

Luke ripped his arms away, determined to get to Vader, but someone kicked the back of his knees and he went down with a yell of frustration, knees hitting hard against the stone flagging. Then he was prone on the floor, the heavy weight of his captors falling on him, knees on his legs, knees on his shoulders, the cold floor chilling against the flush of his face.

“You son of a bitch!” he screamed up at the figure of the Dark Lord looming over him. “You said you would let them go!”

“I made no such assurances,” Vader told him.

“No!” Luke was confused, lost, frantic. Not Han and Leia, too. He’d only done this for them, he’d only agreed not to fight so that they would be free. “You did!” He gasped in a breath, the weight of his captors pressing down on him, compressing his chest. “You said…”

“I gave you no such assurances,” Vader repeated.

“Liar!” he snarled into the floor, trying to crane his neck to look up, trying to gain purchase to push the soldiers off him, but they only pressed down harder, making it difficult to draw breath. “You said….”

He trailed off… trying to remember, trying to work through the panicked fog of his mind. In the cell…. in the cell…. Vader had said….

And horror rattled through him.

Vader hadn’t said.

_“…I’ll not fight the extradition. You can have me! Just leave Leia…”_

He had said it himself. He had offered himself up and Vader had merely….

_“You would willing surrender yourself to me to save your friends?”_

… taken.

Luke stopped struggling, laid his brow against the floor, his body loose, and breathed one word of defeat against the cold hard stone.

“Leia…”

ooOOoo

“Hobbie!” Wedge called, wrenching his flight controls and stamping down on his foot paddles, sending his fighter into a roll to avoid enemy fire. “Contacts coming in at point two! Evasive manoeuvres!”

“I see ‘em!” Klivian sounded rattled as he banked his ship, pulling away from the target he had been lining up. He looped up and around several TIEs, strafing their hulls, shearingwings from the fuselage. “How many more do you think they have?”

Wedge didn’t answer, he knew Hobbie wasn’t expecting an answer; neither of them truly wanted to know how many enemy craft they were up against. Wedge drew a gloved hand under his nose, wiping away tickling sweat. His eyes darted across his sensors, looking up and out of his canopy. “We have another destroyer moving in to intercept the Falcon.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Solo’s voice cut across the comm. “We got another coming in from…. point nine.”

“Also Point six,” Wes supplied, “point three and….”

“We hear you Janson,” Narra interrupted, shutting Wes up. His voice was tight, controlled.

Wedge swallowed, breathing harshly, heart hammering and he….

“Ah!”

“Ylanec!?” Wedge called, frantically searching for the young man’s fighter. The cry had come from the youngest of the squad. “Kid?”

“I’m hit!” the younger pilot told them. He sounded terrified. Then a beat later there was relief. “I… ah… I’m all right…. But… they’ve knocked out my hyperdrive.”

Wedge cursed, dropped his stick, opened fire and obliterated the TIE fighter that flew across his bow. “Get your astromech to…”

“Lost him, too,” the kid announced, his voice suddenly brighter, “but hey, my guns still work, I have sub-light…”

And he proved it by blasting past Wedge and taking out two more Imperials with a barrage of red fire.

“Nice shot, Red Four,” Narra praised over the comm.

ooOOoo

Han turned the Falcon around, tearing through the pack of TIE fighters that had been tailing them, Haslam and Leia letting loose with the cannons, blasting at any moving target, eyeballing it and to hell with the targeting systems.

Han grinned. Leia was a better shot than any seasoned soldier. Then he sobered, remembering that Leia had been fighting this war far longer than any of them.

“We need to get a way out of here,” he commented, thinking aloud rather than talking directly to any one person, but Chewbacca barked a quick agreement. The Falcon shook under another barrage, the instruments showed another ten percent drop in shields. “Shit,” he breathed. “We’re down to thirty percent.”

Over the comm he heard Narra giving more orders to his squad. “Red Two, Red Three run ahead of the Falcon. Reds Four and Five take up positions port and starboard. I’ll bring up the rear. Solo?”

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Han told him.

“There’s none of us gonna last much longer in this…”

Han thought that was the understatement of the century.

“… we’re gonna point straight at one of the destroyers, run it fast and duck under. If we’re fast enough they won’t get a tractor lock on you, or they’ll lock onto one of us instead.”

Han grimaced at that, unhappy that he would be escaping due to the sacrifice of another.

It seemed Leia felt the same way. “No, Commander,” she protested, her voice crackling over the comm. “We can’t risk losing any more pilots…”

“Sorry, Your Highness,” Narra stated with, Han thought, a tinge of humour to his voice. “You don’t get to give the orders today.” There was a pause, the sound of laser fire and then Narra continued. “Falcon, turn to point nine, we’ll run straight and pour on the speed.”

“Copy, Red Leader,” Han acknowledge as the Falcon shook again, sparks rained down from the panel above him and he eyed the flickering lights with suspicion.

_…hold together, girl…._

He brought the ship around, watching as one of the Imperial ships became centred in the cockpit window. “Gun it, Chewie!”

The ship shot ahead, the five X-Wings falling in around them blasting at the swarming TIE’s, cutting at path toward the bulk of the Star Destroyer.

“Here goes nothing, Chewie…”

The Wookiee wailed his own sentiments as they drew nearer to the Imperial ship at incredible speed.

Green streaks erupted in their direction from the cruiser speeding past the cockpit and…. The ship bounced again as the shielding was raked.

Chewie roared….

“I know! I know!”

Twenty-percent.

Closer still, the ship looming before them.

Heart in his mouth, Han wrenched the controls sending the freighter into a dive, heading straight down the side of the massive Imperial ship. He slipped the Falcon underneath.

The Falcon lurched, the engines screamed and he and Chewie were abruptly thrown forward onto the consoles in front of them as the Falcon’s momentum suddenly ceased. Yells sounded from the turrets as Haslam and Leia were tossed around within the gun compartments.

“Han!” Leia called, sounded hurt, sounding rattled.

Solo picked himself up as Chewie dropped back into his chair with a bark. He checked his readings, already knowing what he would find. “They’ve gotta lock!” he shouted.

The Falcon bucked, shook and they bounced in their seats.

“Solo?” Narra’s voice hissed over the comm. “We’re coming back around.”

ooOOoo

Wedge wrestled with his controls as a barrage of cannon fire from the Star Destroyer streaked passed. He jinked, zig-zagged, getting his shields skimmed by a passing blast.

“We’re coming back around,” he heard Narra tell the Falcon. Then, “Red flight?”

“We’re on it!” Wedge told him, turning the X-Wing around and racing back toward the Millennium Falcon: racing away from open space, back into the tumult of the Imperial trap.

He didn’t know what they could do here, didn’t know how they were going to release the Princess and Solo from the inexorable pull of the tractor beam. Flying on instinct, blasting TIE fighters on reflex he sent his fighter down under the Imperial Ship, opening up his guns on the docking bay in the under belly of the vessel.

They bounced harmlessly against the blast shielding.

Maybe proton torpedoes would be better and…

“I’ve got this!” a young voice announced.

“Ylanec?” he questioned.

“Red Four?” Narra voiced, as Wedge spotted both Narra and Ylanec’s fighters racing toward the Falcon as it was dragged under the ship.

The young pilot ignored them both and addressed Solo. “Captain, get ready to run!”

Wedge chilled, horror growing cold in the pit of his stomach as he realised what the young man was thinking, what he was planning.

“Kid,” he heard Solo say. “You don’t need to do this…”

“Ylanec,” Wedge shouted into his comm. “Get back, don’t do this!”

The small craft pulled ahead of Narra who was shouting orders at the young man, telling him to haul ass and get away from the battle.

“I have no hyperdrive!” the boy shouted, fear and resignation in his voice. “They’d pick me up…”

Wedge closed his eyes, another battle, another pilot’s voice suddenly running through his mind.

_"Bang out, Luke!"_

_"No, not here!"_

_"Eject, dammit! You've lost a foil!"_

_"I know! Not here! They'll pick me up..."_

“Shit!” Wedge cursed. Ylanec feared capture the same as Luke had. Ylanec, who hadn’t known Luke before Ardalii, had seen the toll captivity had taken on Skywalker and feared it even more. “You don’t have to do this!”

“I do… my shields are gone, hyperdrive gone, systems failing. I’m dead anyway, or captured.”

“Ylanec!” Wedge yelled, hearing his squad mates echo his sentiments.

“Remember me!”

Wedge watched in horror as the small X-Wing raced ahead of the Falcon. He watched as Narra and Hobbie took down two TIEs who were flying intercept. He watched as Ylanec slammed his fighter into the docking bay of the Star Destroyer, as the boy and his ship disintegrated into a ball of flame and as secondary explosions flared and spread under the cruiser.

“We’re free!” Solo announced.

The Falcon suddenly pitched forward, blasting toward open space, gunning through more Imperial Fighters.

“Pour it on Red Flight,” Narra ordered, sadly. “Let’s get outta here.”

Wedge followed, green laser fire following in his wake.

“Punch it!”

His hands moved automatically and the stars before him streaked into infinite lines.

ooOOoo

Pinned, belly down, Luke watched his breath ghost against the polished marble of the floor. He was trying not to think, trying not to picture what was happening above Horaarn. Trying not to allow the terror for Leia to take hold and drag him down. He needed to stay calm, he needed to stay focused and not lose it completely.

_Please, not Leia…._

He took in another breath, grunting with the effort, wishing the troopers holding him would get off him. He exhaled again, the floor steamed with condensation. He watch it evaporate as he drew in more air. He could smell stale sweat, probably his own, and the sweet tang of the cleaning fluid that had been used on the floor. It smelled familiar, it smelled like…

Marave berries.

The smell brought back memories of his aunt’s baking, of the suns setting and of sitting outside the homestead dome with Beru as she told him stories. When he had been younger, and while he munched on her freshly baked berry cookies, she would regale him with children’s stories; tall tales of space pirates and daring do and of the hero getting the girl. When he was older, when he asked more questions, she would sometimes slip in a snippet or two about his father.

_“Your father had come back for his mother and it devastated him when he learned what had happened, that the Tuskens had taken her. You remember we told you about that?”_

 

Luke closed his eyes. He could almost feel the sand beneath him, could feel the warm evening air tug at his hair and tunic. If only he…

 

An unsettling silence had fallen over the hallway. He lifted his head, trying to see what was happening, trying to look beyond the soldiers who were restraining him, trying to see where Vader was. He could hear the Dark Lord, but could not see him. He was close though, so very close.

 

A hand was placed on his head and he was roughly pushed back down. The gloved and armoured hand held his cheek firmly against the marble.

Something was wrong…

No, that wasn’t it…. Something was….

It felt right to him, but wrong to these people.

_Leia… something about Leia?_

He blew out a breath, unable to stop the hope that had begun to bloom within.

_Leia…_

The sound of her name in his mind made him smile. The feeling of dread for her safety began to wane although he did not yet know why.

_The Force?_

Had Han kept his promise? Had he got the Princess out?

What was it the officer had told Vader? He’d been so worried about Vader going after Leia and Han that he hadn’t fully listened to what the man had told the Dark Lord.

 

_“We have not yet secured the Millennium Falcon, a small group of X-Wing fighters have…”_

X-Wings! The Alliance had sent in help!

_…But not for me…. Not me… They have no way of getting to me…_

He pushed away the beat of panic: the heavy, selfish dread, if Leia was safe he could do this… Whatever _this_ was…. Whatever Vader had to throw at him; he could take it, deal with it, if she and Han and the others were safe.

There was a chirp from a comm and Luke felt the tension in the hallway rise. He grinned into the floor, unable to help himself as a voice within the hallway answered with a terse, “Report.”

They had gotten out. He felt it!

He could already feel the Dark Lord’s ire, but he didn’t care, wasn’t worried about what that might mean for him.

_Aren’t you?_

The voice on the comm was quiet, distorted and Luke couldn’t hear what was being said.

Then: “My Lord Vader!”

Quick footsteps and again Luke tried to raise his head to see, only to have it pressed back down.

“The Princess and her companions have made the jump to lightspeed and…”

And the weight of the Galaxy was lifted from his shoulders. He closed his eyes in relief; Han had gotten her out.

He could do this and not have worry about anyone else.

_You are alone. No-one can help you now._

A shadow fell over him.

“Get him up!” Vader’s voice was angry, harsh.

The weight on him vanished and he was hauled to his feet to stand before the Dark Lord. He straightened, held his head high and stared at the dark lenses of Vader’s mask. He stood his ground, set his jaw and refused to look away.

“Your friends have abandoned you, Skywalker.”

Luke swallowed, allowed a smile to play over his lips. “They didn’t abandon me,” he retorted, with confidence, “Han only did as I asked.”

“You think you have won,” Vader observed, sounding incredulous. “You believe their escape to be a victory.”

At that, Luke did look away, eyes briefly flicking to the stormtroopers and Horaarns loitering about the hallway. Then he looked back up at the Dark Lord. “No,” he agreed, “not a victory. Not yet, but I will still win.”

Again there was ire, a gust of hot anger shimmering through the Force.

“Take him out!” Vader ordered turning away. “Secure him on the shuttle.”

Luke was dragged away, tripping over the shackles on his legs as he was manhandled toward to the opening doors, his mind reeling in disbelief at his words to Vader. His mouth would get him into serious trouble someday.

_And this isn’t trouble?_

He stifled a laugh, tried to supress his smile.

A blast of freezing, evening air caught him, sucking the warmth from his breath, raking his lungs with chilled talons. Camera lights highlighted him, flickering in the dull light, initially blinding him with their intensity. He blinked, grimaced as he realised that the short walk from the doors of the court house to the waiting shuttle was being broadcast.

The courtyard was brightly lit, but was empty bar the waiting shuttle and the lines of white-armoured soldiers that created a corridor in the compacted snow leading to the ship.

It was beginning to snow again. Large, fat flakes were drifting down from the dark clouds.

A push from behind and, still encircled by troopers, he stepped out and down the steps into the piazza, allowing the men holding his arms to determine the pace of their walk along the passageway of Imperial soldiers toward the shuttle.

He could hear Vader coming behind them, could feel the burn of Vader’s gaze on the back of his head. He shuddered, wondering what Vader had planned for him…

_…not yet…. Don’t think of that yet…._

He shivered in a gust of winter wind, his sweat-damp hair blowing into his eyes, warmth lifting from his body.

And he was reminded of the freezing water that was dumped on him on Escaal as part of Dade’s…

 _...Rhovan,_ he firmly told himself, _his name is Rhovan_...

… treatment to wear him down and break him. No water, no sleep, no rest, freezing water full of cleansers that made it undrinkable, the beatings, the droid, the drugs, the…

_Stop! Not now…. Maybe later… but not now…_

_…it’s not happening now…_

_… but it had happened…_

_…it would happen again…_

_Shit!_ _Get a grip!_

The ramp of the ship lowered as they approached, reminding Luke of the gaping maw of the Gulletbeast that had been the antagonist in a cheesy holovid he had watched with Biggs when they were kids. He lowered his head, hiding yet another smile. The beast had looked so fake and he and Biggs had rolled around the floor flapping and screaming like the animal’s prey.

He choked, heaved in a gulp of freezing air, feeling his limbs tremble and not knowing if it was cold, fright or mirth that caused his shivers.

“My Lord Vader!”

The small procession stopped at the shout, the stormtroopers hesitating with him as Vader turned around to face the man hurrying toward them from the court house.

Luke craned his neck around and he scowled with recognition; it was one of the men who had met him and Leia on the landing platform it was…

“First Minister,” Vader greeted, his voice carrying the inflection of an unasked question.

The man seemed flustered, he rubbed at the back of his neck, shifted on his feet. “My Lord, I… I trust that you will be removing your soldiers from our streets now that you have Skywalker.”

Vader briefly looked over in his direction, before turning his attention to the Horaarn politician. “No,” his voice carried in the evening air. “I feel the Empire has to look after its interests in the Horaarn system. A battalion from my fleet will be transferring to the planet and I am leaving two destroyers for your protection.”

Luke smirked with a twist of dark satisfaction.

Vader’s head jerked up and turned to him again, and Luke looked away confused and ashamed by his feelings. Did he really wish a world to be invaded by the Empire - even if they had been instrumental in his capture? It wasn’t the fault of the people, it was the fault of the politicians who represented them.

But still, it felt good to see the blood drain from the man’s face.

“Take Skywalker to the shuttle,” Vader ordered, gesturing toward the idling ship.

“Lord Vader, I must protest! Assurances were given that once….”

It was all Luke heard. He was pushed forward and he lifted his head high and walked towards the ramp unable to clear the smile from his face. His boots hit the durasteel incline, the chains around his ankles catching, making his strides awkward, and the troopers had to catch him, hold him and help him up, only releasing his arms once they had entered the ship.

Luke was vaguely aware of the figures in shuttle, only noted dark uniforms on the peripheral of his vision. All he saw was her.

Everything slowed. Everything cleared. Everything became sharper: the sounds, the colours, the cold breeze following them in, the pistol in Thecla’s hand, the dark barrel pointing at him.

He caught her eyes, saw her intention.

He felt calm, he felt collected, he felt at peace.

“Do it,” he told her.

Someone shouted from outside the shuttle.

_Vader?_

“No!”

There was a shock of blinding light, a brief kaleidoscope of agony that punched him backwards. He landed hard, rolled down the ramp, fell from the edge and landed to lie on the trampled snow, staring up at the sky, at the clouds. He was loosely aware of shouting, of movement around him, of pain and compression in his chest.

_“Luke…”_

He rolled his head, blinking away a snow flake. It fell onto his cheek and began to melt. He smiled at the robed man who stood there, snowflakes passing through his body. “B…en….” he gasped, trying to reach out to the image of the dead Jedi Knight, tugging against the cuffs that held his hands behind his back.

Obi-Wan smiled, it was an expression of compassion, of deep sadness and he faded into the growing blizzard.

“Be…” he tried to speak, but he had no air.

“Get those cameras back!!” a voice roared in anger and agony. Something smashed, something fell to the ground with a metallic clattered. “Switch them all off!”

A shadow fell over him and his head was cupped in a large hand. A baritone voice softly said his name.

“Luke.”

His head was turned and he saw Vader kneeling beside him. A corona of light glowed around the black armour. The helmet and mask obscured his view of the sky, sheltering him from the falling snow.

Vader pulled him up, settling him in the crook of his arm.

Struggling for breath, Luke looked up into the dark lenses of the man who had killed his father. There was nothing there: no expression, no emotion just dark angular contours. He swallowed, choked, tried to hitch in a breath. He could taste blood; could feel its warm, thick, wetness trickle down his chin; could hear a rattle in his throat; could feel his bound hands growing cold beneath him.

“Luke, stay with me!” Vader urged, his voice sounding desperate, pained. “Stay with me, my son.”

_Son?_

Confusion shook Luke as Vader wiped away the blood from his chin, only for more to spill from his mouth.

_My Son?_

His world twisted around him and he was sent plunging down by the sudden, awful understanding of Vader’s words.

_My son._

His eyes flared wide with comprehension. He looked up at the man who held him.

_“It was not I who left your father to burn.”_

Luke struggled in horror, body jerking, feet scuffing in the snow, denying his thoughts.

The helmet turned away. “Get a medic, now!”

And back, “Luke, no…. stay with me….”

The man cradling him, the man pleading with him to stay was....

It made sense now: all of it. Vader’s obsession with finding him, with capturing him because…

_“Because you are Anakin Skywalker’s son.”_

_Son!_

The visions of the dark-robed figure standing by his grandmother’s grave was of a grieving son. Shmi Skywalker’s son.

His father.

And in that same vision Beru Lars had pushed him toward the figure, leaving him alone to watch as it had transformed into the image of the Dark Lord: who had fought him, bested him and had shown him how darkness nested within him, too.

_When the flames arose, I felt pleasure…_

His uncle: who never wanted to discuss his father.

Obi-Wan: who hesitated when he had asked how his father had died.

His Aunt, Beru: who always knew more than she could ever say.

_“You are his weakness, Luke, and you have a strength within you that he craves.”_

All of this…. Escaal, the raid on Ra’imar, Cusrean and Horaarn was all because Vader was...

His body jerked, went into spasm. He tried to draw a breath, got nothing. His vision blurred, his head spun with a quick gyration and he closed his eyes.

“Luke, look at me… Luke!”

Suddenly he needed to say it. He needed to tell the Dark Lord. It was important he say it before he died. He forced his eyes open, trying to swallow the blood that filled his airway. He fought through the searing agony in his chest and reached out to grasp at the Force, using it to pull a last breath into ruined lungs. It gurgled in his throat as swift darkness rushed him.

“I… w..in… fath..er…”

He stared up at Vader and smiled as oblivion took him.

ooOOoo

 

To be continued...


	17. Interlude: Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia grieves for her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are 8 Interludes for Dark Times. The purpose of these is to fill in the gaps between Chapter 6: Absolute and Chapter 7 and to carry the story forward. They are told primarily from one character's point of view and, apart from the last one, they all run in order. The last one is slightly out of order for dramatic reasons.
> 
> Please note that the Dark Times time-line does not necessarily run to the movies' time-line...

** Dark Times: Interludes **

 

** Grief **

_“I am your Master.”_

Leia opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling through the cloying darkness, wondering what had wakened her so abruptly. She lay still, waiting for an alarm or the chirp of a comlink, something that could have snapped her out of her sleep... but there was nothing.

It wasn’t silent in her quarters by any description. She could hear the hum of the generators even at this distance as they worked to provide the base with light and heat. She could hear movement and muted voices in the corridor beyond the closed door as people passed by. She could hear the tick of the pipes that ran across her ceiling, providing her room with some modicum of warmth.

There was nothing that she could identify as being out of place and yet she felt unsettled and uneasy as though something was terribly wrong.

Turning on the cot, pulling her bedding tighter to her body, Leia closed her eyes, trying to pacify her mind and return to the peaceful slumber she had been enjoying. She had been getting precious little of it these last few weeks: since the Alliance evacuated Adralii as a precautionary measure after Horaarn and recalled ships before heading to this Force-forsaken place.

Bleak, miserable and cold. Covered in ice and snow and suffering temperatures so cold that your very breath could freeze if outside at night.

But it was beautiful, too. Stunning vistas of snow-covered mountains, dunes and drifts of snow that the sun glinted from at noon and a sky, sometimes so vibrant blue that it reminded her of Luke’s eyes.

_Luke would have loved it._

Her throat tightened and, sucker-punched by emotion, she gulped in a breath as she sat up and threw the covers aside, gasping for air. “Ah… Ah…”

She tried to stifle her grief, tried to swallow the anguish and the cries it threatened to tear from her.

Sitting in the dark, on the edge of her bed, head down arms folded across her stomach, Leia tried to control the wave of sorrow and guilt that she could not allow to engulf her.

_Oh, Luke._

_You left me!_

It was a scream in her head. It was denial and anger and guilt all in the same feeling, all building within and looking for a release.

_I couldn’t save you._ Tears beginning to flow, she looked to the ceiling, as though she could see through it, as though she could see him somewhere above her. _I tried, I really tried._

“You wouldn’t fight,” she whispered fiercely into the darkness. “You wouldn’t fight! Why didn’t you fight?”

It was the same lament… the same words, the same feelings, the same blow of that awful realisation that drove the air from her body and had the strength to fell her.

Luke was dead.

_He’s not._

_No!_

Dead and gone.

And still it didn’t seem quite true. Didn’t _feel_ true. Despite his absence, despite the sheer lack of him, it still felt unreal. Until these moments, when the truth became too much and reality, comprehension, slammed home.

Luke was dead.

A very public death, live on the holonet.

They should have gone back. They should have turned the Falcon around and gone back for him and to hell with the Horaarns. They should have tried.

_We should have tried harder. We shouldn’t have listened to you. Han shouldn’t have listened to you._

_Godsdammit, Luke, what were you thinking?_

_He was thinking of you! He told Han to get you out… he told Han that Vader would let us go if he didn’t fight._

“Oh, Luke,” his name was a warm whisper of air in a chilled room.

_I miss you…_

_After Escaal I should have spent more time with you. I shouldn’t have allowed Mothma to take up so much of my time. I should have…_

“I should have been there for you and…”

_…and what? What could I have done for you? Would it have made any difference to how you were feeling? Would it have helped you reconcile your experiences just because I was there?_

_Of course not…_

“…but I should have still been there.”

Leia wiped at her eyes and palmed on the light switch above her bed and a dull glow illuminated much of the room, casting pale shadows into the white starkness. She may as well get up, there was no point in trying to find sleep for the rest of this night. Her mind would just go around in circles. She would just replay events in her mind, looking for the small nuances, the little shades and tones that would taunt and tease her with the mistakes that she had made.

Mon Mothma had suggested she spend some time with Therriman, the Mirialan therapist Luke had been seeing following Escaal and Cusrean, but she couldn’t bring herself to sit with him. She would be too tempted to ask about Luke, too tempted to question why he had acted the way he had, why he hadn’t fought more on Horaarn.

_You know why! Han told you! It was for you, it was to save you. It was all for you! His death is on you!_

“Stop it, Leia,” she chided, herself. “Stop it… this does you no good. Let it go…”

_Let him go…_

She ignored her inner suggestion and slipped her feet into the boots by her bed. Despite the panelling the Alliance had put on the floor of this room, it was still too cold to stand on.

It was all ice; the floor, the walls the ceiling… cold, unyielding, ice.

Luke had died in the cold. He had died lying on compacted snow: ice.

Beginning to shiver she reached out and grabbed her clothes, quickly pulling on the padded, insulated pants and jacket, beginning to wish that she had taken up Han’s offer of a bunk on the Falcon, but she had been adamant that if the front line troops of the Alliance suffered this cold and these quarters then so would she.

Leia wiped at her face again, dried her eyes with her sleeve. She had braided her hair before retiring for the night. Now, she worked them into a presentable style. Her hands moved instinctively, weaving her hair without thought. She reached for the small cabinet by her bed, her hand searching the smooth top for a hairgrip. She knocked something heavy and it fell onto the floor.

Sighing, she grabbed a clasp and fastened her hair in place before looking for the dropped object.

She froze, staring at the lightsaber lying on the ice.

Han had found it sitting on one of the bunks in the sleeping area of the Falcon just after their escape from Horaarn. After the jump to lightspeed he had insisted that Leia take a rest and had gone into the cabin to clear a bunk for her. The lightsaber had been sitting securely on a pillow, Luke’s fatigues scattered thoughtlessly on the floor.

Han’s face had been grim, his eyes dark with grief and pain. He picked up the lightsaber and handed it to her. “You can give it back to him, when we get him out.”

Leia had taken it, kept it and now she held it in her hand knowing she would never be able to return it to Luke, because Luke was dead and had probably already been dead by the time Han had lifted the lightsaber from that pillow.

Luke was gone…

“We think it was a mercy killing,” Mon Mothma had told them when they arrived back at Adralii.

But there was nothing merciful about Luke’s death, nothing merciful about being shot in the chest and being left to die trussed up and gasping for a breath while your enemy loomed over you live on the holonet.

Leia closed her eyes in pain. That Luke had to die like that, that he had to die with Vader being the last person to be with him, that the Dark Lord of the Sith was Luke’s last sight was unbearable for her. His pain, his anguish, tormented her.

“I want to see,” she had demanded after she and Han had been told of Luke’s fate.

They had all been escorted from the Falcon to Mon’s private office by Rieekan himself. They were bone weary on arrival but the sorrow in Rieekan’s face on greeting them had driven a new spike of fear through them. It had chased the fatigue from them, left them jittery and on edge as the General refused to tell them what else had gone wrong until they were in a private area. The whole base was subdued and quiet. Leia had spotted Ysabel Jaconti. Standing by the cooling X-Wings, the engineer had been openly sobbing as she hugged a stricken Wedge Antilles.

That Jaconti was so visible upset shook Leia; she had considered the Chief Tech as being unflinching, unflappable. No matter the losses, Jaconti got on with the job and took care of her pilots and their ships. But, not now. Now the woman was distraught as she clung to Antilles.

Stepping into Mon’s office they found the Stateswoman rising from one of her battered couches to greet them. She looked troubled, she looked as though she hadn’t slept in days...

_“Leia….” Mon greeted, taking Leia’s hands in her own. She nodded to Han, Haslam and Chewbacca. “Captain Solo, Chewbacca, Private… It… it’s good to see you all safe.” She gestured to the furniture. “Please sit.”_

_Mon sat, not letting go of Leia’s hands. The elder stateswoman sat by her looking worn and troubled._

It’s Luke, _Leia thought, with a rush of consternation._ Something’s happened to Luke.

_Mon had paused while they all sat. Rieekan remained standing, his face drawn and grim._

_“You won’t have seen the holonet,” Mon started, stating the obvious. They had been fighting a battle to get away from Horaarn. They had spent most of the return journey on repairs and staunchly ignoring the fact their friend had been handed to the Imperials, and that the young sergeant, Thecla Da’amalan, was missing somewhere on Horaarn and unable to get back to the Alliance._

_“There’s no easy way to say this, Leia, but,” and she turned further around to the Princess, her hands tightening on Leia’s, “Lieutenant Commander Skywalker is dead.”_

Leia’s memory of that day, of that moment, was as fresh now as it was when it happened four weeks ago. Her knuckles whitened as her grip tightened on the lightsaber.

At first she had been confused. At first she had thought Mothma had misinterpreted the court’s verdict, but then Han had asked…

_“What happened?”_

_Mon swallowed, looking closely at Leia. “We’ve examined the available footage as closely as possible and we can…”_

_“What happened?” Han said again, his voice cold._

_Mon sighed. “They took him out to the shuttle. As he entered he was shot in the chest and fell back down its ramp. Just before the feed was cut one of the holonet camera’s managed to capture the inside of the shuttle. We’ve identified the shooter as Sergeant Thecla Da’amalan. She was dressed in the uniform of an Imperial Naval Officer.”_

_Haslam was on his feet. “No way, nah-uh. Not the Sarg, she’s as straight as a…”_

_“Sit down, Private!” Rieekan barked, using his authority and Haslam’s respect for him, to calm the soldier._

_Haslam sat, face pale, clearly distressed._

_“We don’t believe she is Imperial,” Mon advised, soothing the soldier’s ire. “We think she managed to infiltrate the shuttle crew. We think it was a mercy killing.”_

_“I want to see,” Leia demanded, surprised to hear her voice. She had felt the blood drain from her face, had felt the numbness descend as her mind and body tried to protect her from an awful truth._

_Mon glanced up at Rieekan and nodded. The holoscreen in the office flickered and they watched in silence._

_It happened fast. Luke, still bound and shackled, was lead into the shuttle. There was a sudden flash of red light and Luke was punched backward. He rolled and fell from the ramp onto the hard snow beneath._

_A camera darted in for a close up and they saw Thecla, for it was clearly Thecla, being wrestled to the ground. The picture suddenly burst into static and another view, a more distant view appeared as the holonet switched cameras._

_They saw Vader kneel by Luke…_

_And the feed abruptly ended._

Careful not to touch the activation stud of the lightsaber, Leia wiped away the ice crystals that had adhered to the metal and placed it back upon the cabinet. She would have to find somewhere safer to keep it. Perhaps Han would keep it on the Falcon. Luke would want it kept, Luke would want it looked after. It had belong to his father.

But not yet, she wouldn’t give it to Han just yet.

Taking in a breath Leia headed to her small private fresher to quickly wash away her tears in cold water – she might go to the Falcon later today and beg Han to use his shower. Perhaps a proper shower with hot water would help her feel better, would help her shake this unsettling feeling that something, somewhere was still very wrong.

ooOOoo

 

To Be Continued....


	18. Interlude: Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhovan ponders his fate in the wake of the events on Horaarn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As always the things I can say belong to me in Dark Times are the Original Characters and the plot line. All Star Wars Characters and situations to belong to Lucasfilm and I make no financial profit from my fan fic writing.

** Dark Times: Interludes **

 

** Uncertainty **

Rhovan shrugged off his jacket and threw it over the back of his sofa. He crossed the lounge in quick strides to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large measure of whisky. He placed the bottle down and lifted the glass to his lips. For a moment he savoured the peaty aroma, the rich malt fragrance, and he threw it to the back of his throat barely tasting it, just feeling the burn of alcohol as he swallowed.

He poured another and closed the bottle.

Holding the glass in his hand, he crossed to the window and looked out across the gardens, neatly set out several stories below him. The trees, the shrubs and the colourful flower beds seemed incongruous to the setting he found himself in. So much greenery, so much life, in a place of darkness and death.

He placed the cool glass against his lips once more, but this time sipped at the amber liquid. He welcomed the slow sear as he swallowed.

Four weeks.

Skywalker had been dead for four weeks... and for those four weeks, Rhovan had heard nothing from Vader, seemingly forgotten and abandoned by the Dark Lord of the Sith.

Four weeks of not knowing, of not fully understanding what was going on.

The news of Skywalker’s death had brought mixed emotions for him. The first was disbelief.

He had been on his way to the hanger to welcome Vader and take possession of his prisoner. He had just stepped from the turbolift onto the deck when his comlink had chirped and Captain Piett had told him to return to his station to receive a new prisoner.

_“Captain, I am already on the hanger deck. Lord Vader’s orders were to…”_

_“Skywalker is dead, Major,” Piett’s voice sounded tight, scared and Rhovan had to wonder how many others on the ship were also frightened at that moment without really knowing why. Skywalker was Vader’s son…_

His son!

_“Lord Vader has instructed that the hanger be cleared for his landing,” Piett continued. “You will be given responsibility of Skywalker’s killer.”_

_Killer…._

_Responsibility…._

_Skywalker was dead._

How could this have happened? Security had been tight. Vader had allowed no Horaarns or Cusreans near his son. Only pilots with the highest clearance had been on that shuttle. Only Vader’s own troopers had been used as escort.

What had happened?

How had it happened?

Then relief had replaced the disbelief. Relief for Luke: the boy wouldn’t need to face yet another dark cell, another droid and more drugs and pain. Relief for the Alliance: it wouldn’t need to fear the rise of yet another Sith Lord. Relief for himself: he wouldn’t have to face Luke, he wouldn’t have to look the boy in the eye as he killed him for Mon Mothma.

Someone had done that job for him. He had turned on his heel and returned to the ship’s brig to await his new prisoner.

Another sip of whisky, the sound of his swallow loud in the silence of his rooms.

Four weeks of babysitting. Four weeks of watching the prisoner through monitors. Four weeks she had languished in the cells of, first, the Executor and then the levels below the Imperial palace.

He looked down at the gardens, at the tiny figures that strolled along the pathways and wondered if they knew what kind of place existed deep below their feet. If they knew of the Emperor’s private prison block and of the things that happened down there while they enjoyed the sights and scents of the Palace gardens.

Except to her.

Nothing happened to her.

She just sat in a cell, in the dark, alone while he watched.

Rhovan closed his eyes and took in a slow breath, beginning to feel the alcohol filter into his blood stream.

She had been a surprise.

_She stepped from the elevator surrounded by stormtroopers, cheek bruised, uniform dusty and dishevelled, her jaw defiantly set, and her eyes darting around taking in her surroundings like a seasoned soldier._

_He knew her! He knew her face. She was…_

_She was dressed in the uniform of an Imperial Pilot, the rank insignia that of a Lieutenant Commander in the Imperial Navy and yet that wasn’t how his memory saw her._

_She was…._

_…. and he saw Wedge Antilles standing angrily over him. He saw Antilles’ growing horror as he looked down at his friend lying beaten and bruised and unconscious on the floor of the shuttle stolen on Escaal._

_“What did you do?” Antilles had asked. “What did you do to him?”_

_Rhovan remembered standing, remembered holding his hands up to placate the angry young man, he remembered Antilles taking a step forward toward him and a petite female infantry soldier had appeared by Antilles’ side._

“Sir,” _she had said to the pilot,_ “this way sir.”

_Then he saw an image of a medical capsule being brought down the ramp of the Millennium Falcon carrying a badly injured solder. He had later heard she had almost died on Rai’mar, giving Skywalker time to reach his X-Wing and escape._

_Then he was standing by the window of the medical centre on Adralii, his face throbbing after Skywalker and Solo’s well landed punches, watching Skywalker being lead toward the Alliance’s Guardhouse by the same female soldier._

_He didn’t know her name, hadn’t thought her important enough, and yet there she was, entering the brig on the Executor and she was just as surprised to see him._

_“Major Rhovan,” her head had cocked in curiosity, her eyes flared in panic, but a smirk twisted her mouth. “It’s good to see a familiar face.”_

_“Lieutenant Commander,” he had greeted with a bow of his head, acknowledging that he had recognised her. “Or, is it Sergeant?”_

_She had smiled, wryly. “Well, I suppose that’s for you to find out.”_

He hadn’t.

Rhovan finished his drink and turned from the window. It was beginning to darken outside, night crawling down the walls of the building.

He still didn’t know her name. He hadn’t been allowed to go near her, but he had also been warned her welfare was his responsibility until the Emperor deemed it otherwise.

She had been secured in the cell originally intended for Skywalker, and Rhovan had retired to his office, bringing up the security feed from her cell and watching her for long minutes. She was already stretched out on the sleeping platform, hands behind her head for a pillow and eyes closed. She seemed relaxed, seemed to be ready to settle into sleep, but Rhovan knew it was an act. She was breathing too quickly, her jaw bunched, she swallowed rapidly. She knew exactly what she was facing for killing Vader’s prized Rebel.

Luke….

Rhovan had switched the monitor screen and brought up the holonet. The screen was immediately filled with the final scenes of Luke’s life. He had sat for a long while watching the constant repeats.

The suddenness, the unexpectedness, of the shot within the shuttle was shocking, as were the few seconds of footage that showed Luke lying dying in the snow with Vader by his side before the transmissions were cut.

It was merciful death, he supposed. It was a quick death. Much quicker a death than the Emperor would have given him. It was a much quicker death than Rhovan would have been able to give him and two things suddenly struck the Major.

Firstly he was doing what the rest of the Galaxy was doing: accepting that Luke Skywalker was dead... And yet, he knew something that only two others knew: Luke was Vader’s son. Could this have been a ruse? Could this have been an elaborate trick to protect Luke, to hide Luke?

If it was then surely the woman was Vader’s agent – so why then had he almost killed her on Rai’mar? It didn’t make sense… there was a piece of the puzzle missing.

If not a ruse, if Luke truly was dead, then had Mothma only sent him in as a back up to the sergeant, to act if she had failed? And, secondly, there was that look on the sergeant’s face as Vader’s men had taken her to the deck. That look was a mix of unbearable pain and utter relief, that look was one that Rhovan had seen before. It was grief.

She had cared for Skywalker, had cared enough to kill him – the same has he had done with his brother. He had killed Sam to protect him, had killed Sam to end his torture.

So the Alliance Sergeant had sat in the cell during the Executor’s journey to Imperial Centre and had been transferred, with a hood over her head, to the cell under the palace on their arrival at Imperial Centre.

Despite Rhovan’s half-formed conspiracy theory of subterfuge; Luke had stayed dead and Vader had left Imperial Centre after only a few days to continue cutting a bloody swath through the Galaxy: the suppression of the uprising on Antar IV, the quelling of riots on Dagelin Minor, the vicious invasion of Nadiem and nationalisation of the farming communities to feed the ever growing and greedy Empire.

Darkness crept into the apartment, creeping shadows lengthened across the floor. With a sigh Rhovan crossed his apartment and refilled his glass.

So here the woman stayed, and here he stayed, and Rhovan knew there was more to her than just her Alliance rank, knew that there was more to her role in all of this: just as there was more to his. They were unfinished business, both left in limbo and Vader had yet to visit either of them and, if truth be told, he feared what would happen when the Dark Lord finally remembered they were here.

 

ooOOoo

 

To be continued....


	19. Interlude: Losses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia contemplates all her losses....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A re-imagining of the command staff meeting from the ESB radio drama written by Brian Daly. 
> 
> I make no claim to the characters and situations from the Star Wars characters and situations - my fanfic is purely for fun, not profit.

 

** Losses **

General Rieekan wrapped up the Command staff meeting and the personnel broke up, leaving the room in groups of two or three. Leia sat for a moment, poking her finger into the wrist of her glove to scratch absently at an itch.

They were getting desperate, now. Low on food, low on fuel, low on armaments, low on money and she hoped that Mon Mothma was having more luck with her visit to Ithor. They badly needed supplies if they were to establish this base any time soon.

“Your Highness?”

Leia glanced up, found Rieekan hovering over her with a datapad in his hands, his face grave. She didn’t need to ask, she knew it was bad.

“We’ve lost Renegade Flight,” Rieekan told her, reading from the screen. “They were intercepted above Derra Four, cut to pieces...”

Leia briefly closed her eyes at the knot of pain that gnarled within. She nodded, slowly taking in the information. “Narra? The supplies?”

Rieekan shut of the datapad and slipped it into his pocket. His voice heavy, his eyes dark. “Lost.”

More deaths, more losses.

“I’m going to promote Antilles to Commander,” the General continued, sitting down beside her.

_Should have been, Luke..._ Leia couldn’t stop her thoughts, couldn’t stop the twist of bitter anger. _It should have been Luke who was being promoted._

“The Rogues are all we have left here,” Rieekan hadn’t stopped speaking, “until we can get a comm out to other bases. But, pilots are in short supply all across the Alliance.”

Everything was in short supply.

Leia steeled herself, swallowed the rising tide that her thought of Luke had triggered. She struggled to focus her thoughts on what was happening in the here and now and not on the events from ten weeks ago. Grief was a sharp, cutting, emotion… Hell, it wasn’t just one emotion. It was a myriad of feelings that rose abruptly without warning or expectation and without welcome. It was rage, it was sorrow, it was weariness, it was regret, distress. It was love.

It was harsh and unforgiving.

“We’ve lost so many of them,” she agreed, horrified that her voice was hoarse, husky with supressed feelings.

Her father: lost on Alderaan.

Alderaan: made an example of by the Empire.

_Luke…._

Rhovan: listed as missing believed dead after being sent on a mission by Mothma while she, Han and Luke were on Horaarn.

Sergeant Thecla Da’amalan: also missing believed killed.

_Luke…_

Young Ylanec: who sacrificed himself to fee the Falcon from the grip of a tractor beam.

Narra and Renegade Squad: lost above Derra IV.

The list could go on. The names of the dead just kept growing and still they fought on as the Empire hammered them, relentlessly. Vader never giving up his endless pursuit, dogging them every step of the way.

Luke’s death hadn’t sated the man. If anything Vader’s unremitting hunt had increased; as had his thirst for blood.

Rieekan hesitated, looking at Leia with sympathy and in that moment the Princess hated him for it. She didn’t want sympathy, she wanted….

….Luke back.

And that confused her. Why was she grieving more for Luke than for Alderaan? Why had these last few weeks been so much more difficult than the weeks following the loss of her entire planet?

_“Because Alderaan was massive, your Highness,”_ _Therriman told her, when she had eventually given in and sought him out, recognising that she needed to talk. She needed to tell someone how she felt. “Alderaan was billions. Luke was one person and one person is easier to grieve for. Your mind finds it simpler to grasp and understand the death of one. The death of billions is a much more difficult concept to comprehend.”_

_“But I know it happened, I saw it happen.”_

_“Yes, but were you able to comprehend the magnitude of it?”_

She thought she had. She thought she had been able to wrap her mind around the loss of her world... until Luke had died and snatched away her understanding. His death cut a wound so deep it had been like losing a piece of herself.

“Your Highness?”

Leia shook herself, forced a smile. “I’m sorry, General, what were you saying?”

“We’ve also just discovered that the winds last night took out a section of the base’s early warning sensors. We’re sending out more riders to replace them,” he smiled, and Leia knew him well enough to know that he was doing his best to redirect her thoughts. “Captain Solo has volunteered to go out.”

That surprised Leia, jolted her, and pleased her more than she would ever admit. “He’s decided to stay?”

“He didn’t say as much, but it’s a good sign,” Rieekan sobered. “We could use more like him.”

 

ooOOoo

To be continued


	20. Interludes: Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone, Thecla contemplates her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some unknown reason I managed to miss this chapter. So I have deleted two chapters and will reinstate them once I have posted this one. 
> 
> As always Star Wars and it's characters and situations belong to Lucasfilm and Disney.

**Dark Times: Interlude: **

**Isolation**

Thecla lay on her back staring up at the high ceiling of her cell. She had tried to keep track of the time since she had been brought here, but she knew that within a few days she had lost it. Time had no meaning: it was uncountable seconds and minutes that slowly ticked past leaving no sense behind them... for nothing ever changed here. The door remained shut, the dull orange glow rose from the floor grating and the walls remained grey, flat and rough.

Sound did not penetrate from beyond the four walls. There was nothing to differentiate between one minute and the next: nothing except her own rough breathing and whispers.

This wasn’t what she had expected.

With a groan she sat up, her hand going to her head as a wave of dizziness threatened to drop her. They only gave her water and food once a day, through a slot in the wall. She knew it was automated, she knew it was at different times of the day to keep her disorientated and she knew what drugs were laced into the food to keep prisoners passive, sedated, and easier to control..

She still ate and drank. She knew how this place worked.

She knew she could be in this cell for the rest of her life. She knew she could be left here, abandoned just as she had abandoned others when they had displeased her master enough to suffer this fate.

_“Death is too easy… Let them rot.”_

And rot they would, driven mad by a solitary existence.

And it now looked like she was to suffer the same fate and she could not work out where she had gone wrong. She may not have followed her mission to the letter, but still she had accomplished what she had been tasked to do.

_“You wished to see me, Master?”_

_“Ah, my dear.” Palptine opened his arms, the pale flesh of his hands stark against his black robes. “Rise, rise…”_

_She did as commanded, but kept her head bowed as her Master stood and came around his desk to greet her._

_“It has been too long, my young friend,” The Emperor commented. “I hear your mission was a success?”_

_“Yes, master,” she spoke clearly, enunciating each word. “Moff Fhren will no longer be laundering stolen funds.”_

_One gnarled hand was laid upon her shoulder. “That is good news. I trust he understood my message?”_

_“Yes, Excellency. He was most apologetic.” She allowed a little smirk to play on her lips, recalling the man pleading for his life even as her blade had slit his throat._

_“Good… Good!” Palpatine sounded appeased, pleased. He walked around her, fingers trailing over her shoulders and she tensed, fought a shudder of disgust. She loved him, revered him, but his touch always upset her._

_“I have another mission for you, child.”_

_“I am yours to command, Master.”_

_“Lord Vader has uncovered the name of the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, but he has been reluctant to divulge it.” He withdrew his hand, tucked it into the sleeve of his robe and moved to stand in front of her._

_“Master, I can easily slice into…”_

_Palpatine chuckled. “You are always so eager to please, to serve. You do me proud.”_

_She said nothing, just waited in silence._

_“The pilot’s name is Luke Skywalker, a boy fresh off a Tatooine farm and yet the Force is once more tainted with the light of the Jedi Knights, with the stench of Obi-Wan Kenobi.”_

_She swallowed, hearing and feeling the rage that underscored Palpatine’s words._

_Skywaker?_

_Kenobi?_

_Were they not names from history, were they not the names of…_

_“You remember your lessons? You remember the treachery of these names?”_

_She cleared her throat. “They were hailed as heroes during the Clone Wars. Skywalker died during the Jedi Uprising at the temple. His master, Kenobi, gravely wounded Lord Vader during an attempt to assassinate him.”_

_“You are correct, my dear. During the Clones Wars those two brought chaos to the Galaxy, their names were uttered wherever there was death and destruction….” He paused and turned, walking back to his desk and she knew she was about to be dismissed. “Vader believes this new Skywalker to be his son.”_

_His son…_

_She didn’t know what to make of that statement, wasn’t sure how to understand it. “His… son, Master?”_

_Palpatine turned, grinning. “Anakin Skywalker’s son,” he explained. “Hidden on Tatooine by Kenobi. Partially, trained by Kenobi. He could become a powerful enemy.”_

_She understood her mission without being told it. “You wish me to infiltrate the Rebellion and eliminate Skywalker.”_

_Palpatine sat back behind his desk and looked up at her. “I want you to infiltrate the Rebellion, my dear, but I do not wish you to kill him, not yet. I want you to watch him, gauge him. I want you keep him away from Vader. Do whatever it takes to keep him free of Lord Vader’s custody.”_

_She licked her lips, afraid to ask.... “And if I cannot? If his capture is inevitable?”_

_The yellow of her master’s eyes seemed to glow with menace, with anger, but his tones were placid and calm. “Then, child, you may kill him.”_

And that is what she had done.

She had joined the Alliance, trained in the infantry and finally she was posted to Rai’mar. From there she had watched Skywalker from afar, had listened to gossip and idle talk about the Rebellion’s blond haired, blue-eyed poster boy. At first she had hated him, at first she had seen him only as the enemy but then suddenly he was no longer there.

Shot down on Escaal. Missing in action.

He had been out of her reach, either dead or captured. She had been prepared to be recalled to Imperial Centre, expecting to be chastised for failing in her mission, when the message finally reached her: she was stay where she was.

Skywalker was on his way back to Rebel Alliance lines, aided by an Imperial Major.

Major Erwin Rhovan: a talented and ruthless interrogator, who had apparently defected to the Alliance, taking Skywalker with him. Palpatine had warned her that the situation was complicated, that he suspected Rhovan of serving both the Empire and the Rebellion. There had been no other explanation; Rhovan, was not within her remit. Her mission was Skywalker alone.

She had made sure she was there when Rhovan had brought Luke in. Her stomach had flipped at the sight of him, lying battered, tortured and unconscious on the deck of the shuttle. Her reaction had unsettled her. In the course of her duty she had left others lying in similar, physical states... and worse. Why had the sight of Skywalker disturbed her?

She didn’t get the time to ponder it as, along with Haslam, she had to pull Wedge Antilles off of Rhovan.

Haslam: the big puppy of a man, who followed her so faithfully, she had sometimes wondered if he was another Imperial operative, placed at her side by Palpatine.

On Ra’imar she had taken a lightsaber to her belly when she had saved Luke. She had been so determined that Vader was not going to get him that she had almost paid for it with her life.

She had been surprised to come to in the Alliance Bacta tank, but no less determined to see her mission to conclusion and so she had begun to follow Skywalker, to watch him, to ingratiate herself into his life.

It had been working. She had guided him to safety when he was drunk and disorientated during the ash fall after the fiasco of Cusrean. She had deliberately walked past him in the mess hall, caught his eye and smiled at him as she joined her squad mates. She had heard the comments that came at her back.

_“Cute butt, huh, Luke?” Antilles had teased._

_“I don’t think of sex every time I look at a girl,” Skywalker had admonished, but she had heard the smile in his voice._

_“Sure you do,” Antilles, argued. “You just don’t admit it.”_

When the holonet had broadcast the pictures of the devastation Skywalker had wrought at Cusrean; it was she he had looked too. Their eyes had met and she had seen his horror and despair; his guilt and helplessness. She had looked away first: she had looked away because the anguish she had seen in his eyes was too much, and because she hadn’t understood the feelings that had suddenly arisen with her… feelings for him.

She cared.

Somehow, and she still didn’t understand how or why, he had gotten to her. Somehow she had allowed her defences to lower and she had made the biggest mistake of her life.

She cared for Luke Skywalker.

Leaning back against the cool, rough wall of the cell, she could see her mistake so clearly, now... but in becoming a part of his everyday life, she could remain close to him, keep him from Vader, slip a vibroblade between his ribs if her Master ordered it.

So it had been easy to find him after his attack on Major Rhovan. She knew about the place he went to that no-one else knew about: the natural atrium, hidden by the trees, several hundred yards away from the base.

He had been practising with his lightsaber against a pair of remotes. He was fast, the blue blade slicing through the night air just a blur to her eyes. The sight was astonishing, the precision of his thrusts and parries like those of a skilled sword master... And then he had turned and screamed in rage and anger, slicing through both remotes with two final strokes only to fall to his knees and vomited into the deep ash that covered the ground.

_“Well, remind me never to get you angry.”_

She had revealed her presence to him, had joined him sitting in the volcanic ash and dust and they had talked: they had connected. She had told him about killing the civilians in the store... and he had accepted her at her word. They had made a bond; they had something in common; they had killed innocents in the grip of battle.

She hadn’t been joking with Solo when he had confronted her about her feelings for Luke.

_“I’d like to check out his thrusters if that’s what you mean, Sir.”_

The Corellian had laughed and had gestured that his lips were sealed, and that had been that. She had gone down the sewer in a vain attempt to reach Luke, but he had been convicted of a crime and taken to prison and out of her reach. Trapped in a city full of Vader’s troopers, she’d had little choice but to contact her master and request to come in so that she could fulfil her mission. A request that had been granted.

Luke had seen her, had seen the blaster pistol in her hand, and had understood why she was there. He had not seen an Imperial assassin. He had not seen what she truly was. He had seen a friend there to help him: there to kill him.

_“Do it.”_

Believing that she, too, was about to die fulfilling her Master’s wish, she had pulled the trigger.

There had been a brief hesitation, a few seconds of a pause after Skywalker had fallen from the ramp, then the impact of her actions had hit those around her. The gun had been swept from her hand, her legs kicked out from under her and she had been on the deck and being trussed up like swine for slaughter just as Vader began to shout for a medic. There had been a commotion, shouting, a calm measure of panic invading the soldiers around her. An emergency medical capsule had been retrieved from a storage compartment and rushed down the ramp into the growing snow storm.

Closing her eyes Thecla licked her lips, remembering those awful seconds when she thought that Luke was still alive. Why else would they need the capsule?

But a trooper entered the shuttle, striding towards her, bending to pick something up from the deck.

Dragged to her knees, she had brought her head up to stare into the barrel of her own gun.

_“Is he dead?”_ she had asked, not really expecting an answer.

_“He’s dead,”_ the soldier confirmed.

She smiled. Skywalker was dead and so was she. She closed her eyes as the trigger was pulled.

Only to open them again half way along a corridor on the Executor as she was being dragged to the brig. She had only been stunned. But why? Why would Vader keep her alive? Had he known their Master had sent her after his…

His what? His prey? His…

_“Vader believes this new Skywalker to be his son.”_

Her master’s voice returned and with it the confusion she had first felt at the wording Palpatine had used.

_His son?_

_“Anakin Skywalker’s son,”_ her master had amended with a smile.

… his enemy’s son.

She had managed to find her feet by the time she stepped from the turbolift and found herself looking at a bruised face, a freshly swollen face, but a familiar one.

_“Major Rhovan,” she greeted, surprised that her voice was steady because her heart hammered in quiet panic: she knew what this man was capable of. If he was here and not with the Alliance that meant… What? What did it mean? That he was the same as her? “It’s good to see a familiar face.”_

_“Lieutenant Commander,” he welcomed, reading her true rank from her uniform, with a bow of his head, acknowledging that he had recognised her. “Or, is it Sergeant?”_

_She forced a smile. “Well, I suppose that’s for you to find out.”_

He never did. She never saw him again, she never saw anyone. Her last contact with another person was when she was transferred to this cell with a hood over her head.

Rising from the solid sleeping platform, she walked the cell. Approximately one hundred and eighty centimetres wide, two hundred deep; not much to walk, but it was all she had. She walked, she paced, her mind racing, her mind panicking, going over and over the events that lead her here. Going over and over words that had made no sense, words that she had dismissed and forgotten until time was all she had and her memory her only sanctuary.

_“Vader believes this new Skywalker to be his son.”_

And still they made no sense… and yet, alarmingly, they did.

_“Do whatever it takes to keep him free of Lord Vader’s custody.”_

Why? Why had that been her task?

Never before had she questioned her master. Never before had his motives mattered to her. But now… Now it could mean everything.

Why was she to keep them apart?

Why…?

Her hand shook as she raked it through her hair, her fingers getting caught in the tangles. The rich colour now dull with sweat and grime.

Why?

Luke had been training, had been improving and growing stronger.

The Dark Lord of the Sith was hunting him, scouring a Galaxy for one man, one pilot.

_“Vader believes this new Skywalker to be his son.”_

Two powerful Force users and…

_“Do whatever it takes to keep him free of Lord Vader’s custody.”_

… she was to keep them apart because…. Because together they…

Suddenly chilled she stopped before the door, stopped before the steps that had lead down into her prison as bitter comprehension struck home.

…because… because together they would be a threat to her master.

She shivered, jitters shuddering through a weakened body.

Because together Luke and Vader would be more powerful than the Emperor. Together they could over throw Palpatine and take the throne and the Galaxy.

No… that was wrong! Luke was a Rebel. Luke believe in the Republic. Luke would never join the Dark Lord. Unless… Unless Vader had something to offer him, something Luke deemed worthy enough to give up the fight.

Was it possible?

_“Vader believes this new Skywalker to be his son.”_

Trembling she placed a hand against the thick durasteel door and used it as a support to lower herself to sit on the steps. Sitting there she realised that she was afraid, terribly afraid of what would happen when the cell door opened, and even more afraid of what would happen if it never did.

Had she killed Darth Vader’s son?


	21. Interlude: Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Hoth Han tells Leia that he's leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers apply.

**Dark Times: Interlude**

 

** Alliance **

“Leaving?”

Leia hated the way her voice sounded. Hated hearing the tremor that shook the word. It just made her angrier.

Han trawled a hand through his hair and looked around the ice corridor, aware that they were arguing in a public place. “Look, Leia, I never made any promises.”

No,” she agreed, bitterly. “You didn’t.”

She paused, closed her eyes and pushed away her anger, trying a different tact. “Han, we’re short of pilots, short on everything. We need you!” She hated that she was pleading, that he had reduced her to begging.

“We?” Han’s eye brows shot up, he stepped forward, demanding, “Who’s ‘we?’”

She looked at him like he didn’t have a clue. “The Alliance, of course! Han, you can’t leave now when…”

A trooper, carrying a crate, squeezed past them.

“…. we’re trying to get things back together!” she hissed.

“The Alliance,” Han echoed with a roll of eyes. “Of course, it’s all about the Alliance.”

“Of course, it’s about the Alliance,” Leia confirmed, “What else would it be about?”

The Corellien looked angry, hurt. “Leia, I thought maybe…”

“Maybe what…?” she snapped, defensively, knowing exactly what Han was trying to say.

_Don’t ask me. Please don’t ask me._

“I thought maybe you’d want me to stay because of how you felt about me.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

She couldn’t do this, couldn’t allow someone to become so close. She had duties to the Alliance, to the fight. To consider what Han was looking for from her was out of the question. It was ridiculous, it was foolhardy. Anything could happen to him, to her, like it had with Luke.

“Of course I do,” she tried to placate him, tried to keep his suggestion within reason. Tried to let him down gently as though she had no feelings. She had to be like this planet; ice. “You’re a great help to us, a natural leader and….”

“That’s not it,” Han barked and turned on his heels, walking quickly up the corridor. “See you around, Sweetheart.”

Leia held back, watching his back recede down the corridor, watching him disappear around the corner and caught her breath. Cold realisation finally hitting home. It was not unlike grief. It was a blow, a hard hitting punch – much like those she still suffered when memories of Luke entered her thoughts.

She was losing Han…. He was leaving.

“Han!” She ran after him, caught up with him at the entry to the hanger bay. She could see the Falcon, could see Chewbacca climb down from the top of the hull.

“What?” he stopped, turned around, anger colouring his face.

Desperate to prevent him leaving, she said the first thing that came to her. “What about Luke?”

If anything the Corellian’s face darkened further. “Leave Luke out of this… he’s gone. He has nothing to do with my decision.”

“He’d want you stay!” She was aware she was pleading, begging. She couldn’t lose them both, not now…

“He doesn’t want anything, Leia!” he burst, furious that she had brought Luke into the argument. “He’s dead!”

He spun on his heel, ignoring Leia’s distress and the stares from the Rebel personnel nearby, ready to march away... but he stopped, dropped his head and turned back around with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, he stood awkwardly with arms hanging loosely by his side.

Leia swallowed, her tears too close to the surface, not trusting herself to say anymore.

“Just ask me, Leia,” he implored. “Just ask, that’s all you have to do.”

She hesitated, heart hammering in her chest, the thuds so loud that she was sure the Corellian could hear them. Yet, she hesitated, was afraid to acknowledge to him how she truly felt. Afraid of what he was asking and what it would mean for them both.

Solo looked down, shook his head and began to turn away.

The words tumbled from her. “Han. Stay. Please.”

He stopped, tilted his head, pleased, but not fully satisfied. “For the Alliance?”

“For me,” she conceded, no longer caring who heard or saw them. “Stay for me.”

Two quick steps and his arms wrapped around her. She placed her head against his chest, her own arms encircling his waist. He was warm, he was gentle, and he smelled of fuel, oil and sweat and it was the sweetest of fragrances.

“That wasn’t too hard, now, was it,” he admonished, whispering.

“You’ll stay?”

“For you, Leia. Only ever for you.”


	22. Interlude: Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhovan interrogates a new prisoner and has his first face to face with Vader since he rescued Luke Skywalker from Escaal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers apply!

** Dark Times: Interlude 6 **

** Prisoners **

****

Rhovan tightened his fist, his glove pulling tight across his knuckles, and lashed out. The blow sent the prisoner’s head snapping back, the power of it toppling the man from the chair and onto the floor.

The Major stepped over him. “I’ll ask only one more time,” he growled with impatience. “Fleet rendezvous points?”

The man spat blood from his mouth, his cheek already colouring and swelling. He glared up at Rhovan and pressed his bloody lips together, keeping silent.

Rhovan turned on his heels and addressed the waiting guards. “Give him some more thinking time.”

The two guards moved in as the door opened for Rhovan to exit. There was a grunt of pain as the prisoner was dragged from the floor. Then…

“Your days are numbered, Erwin.”

Jaw hardening, Rhovan stopped, glanced back at the man held between the two guards. A long time ago they had been friends. “Not as numbered as yours, Carlist.”

The door snapped shut as soon as Rhovan stepped up into the corridor. He stood for moment, fists clenched by his side.

_Godsdammit!_

Rieekan had shown him guarded hospitality, refuge and a place with the Rebellion. He had nothing to offer the General, now, other than prolonged pain and a slow death.

He couldn’t risk killing Rieekan in interrogation. He couldn’t give him too much of the drugs, he couldn’t break his neck during a beating, he couldn’t pinch the right blood vessel or ram his head against the wall. This was not Escaal. In this prison, his word was not the final authority. In this prison, subjects only died when the Emperor willed it and woe betide anyone who caused the death of an inmate before Palpatine consented.

Rhovan was as much a prisoner here as the Rebel General, and so he would dutifully obey his Emperor’s commands and Rieekan would live, would suffer and would break.

“I would never have placed you as a contemplative man, Major Rhovan.”

Rhovan chilled, stiffened, and stood to attention as Darth Vader strode purposefully down the cell corridor. “My Lord,” he greeted, berating himself for being lost in thought, for losing focus and not hearing the Dark Lord’s approach. He was acutely aware that this was the first time that he had been in the presence of the Sith since he had snatched Luke Skywalker from Escaal. “Forgive me, I was not made aware that you were visiting the General.”

Vader could only be here for Rieekan. He was the highest ranking Rebel in the prison, a major coup for the Empire. An irreplaceable loss for the Rebellion.

Hoth had been a massacre for the Alliance and Rieekan had been delivered to Imperial Centre by Vader himself only the day before.

Since the death of Skywalker Vader had not been on Imperial Centre. It seemed the death of his son had only served to drive the Dark Lord in his pursuit of the Rebellion, putting down insurrection with swift and fierce force. More worlds had been conquered and subjugated, thousands dead in Vader’s efforts to end the Rebellion once and for all... and still they fought on, planning sedition even as they ran.

Rhovan had to wonder where Mothma was hiding.

Perhaps Rieekan would break and tell them.

“I am not,” Vader told him and Rhovan was sure there was a hint of humour in the Dark Lord’s voice. “I am here for the woman.”

_Woman?_

Rhovan glanced up the corridor to the cell door that had not opened for over sixteen weeks.

“The Rebel sergeant?” he questioned, falling into step with the larger man, suddenly afraid for the soldier who had killed Skywalker. The Emperor’s instructions had been quite clear: she was to stay where she was, untouched and unvisited, until he called for her.

Was Vader about to disobey his master’s direct orders?

He was sure it wouldn’t have been the first time. Only Vader seemed immune to Palpatine’s wrath and could push boundaries that no other would dare step close to. Trying not to smile, Rhovan recalled his conversation with Rieekan and Ehlen Anders back on Adrallii just after Luke Skywalker’s debriefing following the Cusrean incident.

_“But it’s when Jedi follow orders that you should worry.”_

Rhovan had been referring to the history of Jabiim, when Anakin Skywalker had left hundreds to suffer and die by following his orders: one of the few times that he had.

Perhaps the Sith were the same as the Jedi in some respects, or perhaps that statement was only true when it came to Anakin Skywalker and the Sith Lord he had become.

“Come, Major, we both know that she is no Rebel.”

Rhovan licked his lips, took in a nervous breath. “I am not sure what you mean, My Lord, I…”

Vader stopped before the doorway and turned on him. Rhovan was proud of the fact that he did not step back from the Dark Lord.

“I have not forgotten your actions on Escaal, Major!” Vader warned him, choler tainting his tones. “Nor have I forgotten that you assisted a Rebel pilot to escape custody. A Rebel pilot named as the man who destroyed the Death Star.”

Rhovan said nothing, he merely stared into the lenses of the mask as Vader paused. Vader could mean anything by that first statement. Rhovan’s actions on Escaal ranged from building the underground resistance network, to handing over plans and schematics of the weapons factory to the Alliance and helping them plan an attack. It could mean Skywalker being given sanctuary by the Network after he was shot down, to his torture of the pilot once Luke had been taken captive. However, the mention of the Rebel pilot, of Luke Skywalker, was quite telling.

“I trust Captain Velaptor made my point clear on Horaarn?” There was a hint of dark humour, a hint of caution.

Still unflinching, refusing to recall his own brief torture at the hands of the expert sadist now stationed on the Executor, Rhovan told him. “Implicitly clear, my Lord.”

It had been retribution, it had been a lesson. What he had done to Skywalker, Vader had done to him.

Vader held his gaze for long seconds before turning away to regard the cell door behind which sat the agent of the Empire who had killed his son.

“Then you know who Skywalker was.”

And, despite the leaden weight of Vader’s voice, despite the sorrow he was sure he heard, Rhovan chilled once more. Vader’s words were a statement, not a question. “Yes, My Lord.” There was no point lying.

“How?”

Again, he was not about to lie. “The Lady Mon Mothma.”

“Mothma?” The name of the Alliance leader was a hiss of anger and again the angular mask turned on him inviting clarification.

And still he did not cower from the Sith. Rhovan straightened his back and explained. “After Alderaan, after Yavin, Skywalker’s droid sought her out. It carried a message detailing Skywalker’s birth…” Here he did pause, briefly pondering his fate once the truth was acknowledged and if Vader could tell that there was also a truth omitted; Luke’s sister had to remain unknown. “…and who his parents were. Who his father was.”

For long moments Vader was silent, unmoving, digesting that information. The only sound in the corridor was the suck-hiss of the Dark Lord’s breathing and the hammering of his own heart in his ears. What he wouldn’t give to know Vader’s thoughts at that moment. He braced himself expecting more questions… expecting his airway to constrict. Expecting so much more than he got.

“Then join me, Major,” Vader invited at last, activating the door of the cell, “I may yet have some use for you,” and he stepped down into the fetid atmosphere of the tiny room.

Rhovan let out a breath, sucked saliva into his dry mouth and throat before following Vader down into the cell. He was sure that Vader could feel his relief and disbelief that he had been allowed to survive with such knowledge. He knew, too, that the man would still have questions needing answers…

Or not… Luke Skywalker was dead. Did that knowledge really matter anymore?

The girl was sitting up on the bunk, tired eyes blinking and narrowing in the additional light that bled in from the corridor. To her credit the only outward signs of her terror were the flare if her eyes, the pulse of a muscle in her cheek and a slight tremor in her hands. She was drawn, pale and so much thinner than when she had first stepped in here all those weeks ago.

She took in a breath, turned on the bench until her feet dangled over the side, toes barely touching the floor. “My Lord Vader,” she greeted, her voice thin and wispy, dry, her eyes briefly flickered his way.

“The Emperor wishes to see you,” Vader stated, getting straight to the point.

And Rhovan saw the brief turn of her lips, the hope flashing in dull eyes.

“I am the Emperor’s willing servant.” She slid off the bench to stand and almost collapsed as her legs folded. Neither Vader nor Rhovan made any attempt to help her. She caught the bunk, righted herself and held her head high and proud.

“You are to join him at the Surgical Reconstruction Centre,” Vader told her, standing before her, blocking her access to the door.

Rhovan saw alarm spread on the woman’s face. The SuRecon was the most prestigious medical centre on Imperial Centre. It had also housed Palpatine’s court in the early days of the Empire. The throne rooms and private dwellings for his Excellency, were still in the pinnacle of the tower.

“I trust the Emperor is well,” she said, sounding genuinely concerned, despite her solitary incarceration, her punishment.

Vader moved to the side, the door now within the prisoner’s sight and reach. “He is in excellent health, but he is concerned for a patient’s wellbeing. He believes you may be able to assist him.”

Brief confusion pulled the girl’s brows together, but then her eyes shot to Rhovan. The question he saw in them was the same sudden question, the same abrupt thought that churned his own gut with unease and caused bitter bile to rise in his throat.

“I… I’m not sure what you mean, My Lord,” she whispered. Rhovan knew she was lying, he knew her comprehension had slipped home at the same moment as his.

“The patient is waking,” Vader told her, told them, turning to regard Rhovan. His tone indicated that he expected them both to understand his unspoken meaning. “The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face.”

ooOOoo

To be continued....


	23. Interlude: Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amazed by her new relationship with Han, but still grieving for Luke and for the losses of Hoth, Leia wanders through the Millennium Falcon and stumbles upon a terrible truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply...

** Dark Times: Interlude  **

** Truth **

_“I am your master.”_

Leia opened her eyes as the whisper faded into the dark. She lay still, listening to the sounds of the Millennium Falcon, listening for the sly murmur that had awakened her. But all was quiet apart from the purr of the Falcon’s hyperdrive and again she was left feeling unnerved and unsettled. Too many times now she had been brought out of sleep by something she could barely remember, a dream that fled from memory as soon as she woke leaving her with only the impression that something, somewhere, was terribly wrong.

The princess sighed quietly trying to dismiss the thought as she so often had over the last few weeks. Dwelling on the feelings got her nowhere, trying to follow the shreds of the dream led to frustration and, following Theriman’s advice she was beginning to learn to let them go, to see them as nothing more than a subconscious manifestation of her grief for friends and family.

Her father.

She closed her eyes. Hoth had been a disaster. So many lost to the Empire, so many left behind in the freezing wastes. She had recognized many of the names on the list of dead and missing.

Sa’adaan.

Senesca

A General. A Captain. A Lieutenant. A Private.

So here they were again, a ragtag fleet limping through space trying to keep the Rebellion alive after so many losses and setbacks.

There had been a few days when she had thought that she and Han might not make it. They had blasted off from Hoth only to find themselves faced with Vader’s Death Squardon – the same ships they had eluded at Horaarn. The chase had been frantic, fraught, and the failure of the hyperdrive had made captivity seem like a looming reality.

And then the Imperial vessels had dropped back, had regrouped and just disappeared into hyperspace leaving the Falcon floating alone in space.

Something had happened. Something significant enough for Vader to pull back and call off the dogs.

But what?

On regrouping with the fleet it was the first thing she had asked and no-one could answer. There was nothing on the holonet, nothing from intelligence, nothing reported anywhere that could explain Vader’s sudden withdrawal from his pursuit.

It had unsettled her and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something…. something significant… had happened.

 

“Dammit,” she whispered into the dark. She was awake, frustrated but tired, wanting nothing more than to fall back into slumber for a few hours respite and she knew from experience that she would see no more sleep tonight.

However, she was reluctant to move from the warmth of the bunk, from the warmth of the man who lay spooned behind her with a heavy arm draped over her waist. She smiled into the dark of the bunkroom, ran a hand over Han’s arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath and, without waking, he drew her tighter to him and she instantly felt better. No matter how bad things became, being held by Han always seemed to chase the encroaching shadows.

It was strange, Leia thought. It was strange that simple things once taken for granted could come to mean so much more. A hot shower and being able to shampoo and untangle your hair, a comfortable and warm room, a hot cup of caf handed to you by your lover…

She smiled at that.

She had fought against it for so long, had believed that her life had been dedicated to fighting the Empire and that love and a partner were something for after….

…after the Empire…. after Palpatine and Vader…

…but here she was with Han. Here she was being held and wanted by another, being loved by another and it was…

It was what? Leia sifted through her feelings, trying to identify how she felt, tried to compare the emotion to other times in her life that had given her a similar contentment.

She smiled.

It was happiness. She was happy with Han and she couldn’t understand why she had fought against it for so long.

_Because of Luke…_

The thought sobered her. Was it because of Luke, that enthusiastic boy who had burst into her cell on the Death Star and breathlessly announced that he was there to rescue her?

His blond hair, his startling blue eyes, that little chin cleft, his clear tanned skin. There was no denying that he was cute, or that he was attracted to her.

That had changed over the two years since Yavin: since the Death Star and Alderaan. Luke still loved her; still looked at her with wide, adoring eyes, but war had taken its toll on him, on her... and their close friendship had never moved beyond anything but platonic. Despite the rumours on base, they were confidants and companions and nothing more.

But Han...

She grinned. Han was something entirely different.

Han was the spark to her tinder. Han ignited her, warred with her. Han could raise ire and arousal within her just with a look and she rose to him every time, taking the bait... all the while wondering how his mouth would feel on her lips, how his hands would feel as his fingers trailed a line down her chest between her breasts and down over her belly to dip…

Leia squirmed next to him and Han grunted in his sleep, shifted a little before settling back to sleep.

She lay still, not wishing to wake him.

Had she waited so long, because of Luke? Had she refused to accept the mutual attraction between herself and Han because she hadn’t wanted to hurt Luke and, now Luke was gone…

_…not gone… just not here…_

…she was free to pursue what truly made her happy?

Had she allowed Luke to hold her back?

She closed her eyes at the pain that came with her thoughts. She was being unfair to Luke, she was being cruel when Luke wasn’t here to defend himself and she had a feeling she was using Luke to deny her own culpability. Only she was to blame for delaying her own happiness with Han. Only she had fought against it and denied it with duty first. It had nothing to do with Luke and she knew her friend would have been angry with her, would have been upset for her thinking otherwise.

_I miss you, Luke._

It was during nights like this when she couldn’t sleep that she would get up and wander the base, or whatever ship they were on. She would usually find Luke also awake and either in the hanger working on his X-Wing or, if on the Falcon, sitting at the Dejarick board playing a game with Artoo Detoo.

They would drink hot chocolate spiced with tang bark and talk about everything or nothing at all.

Leia smiled, seeing Luke sitting on a crate in the hanger, his hands streaked with oil, his hair dishevelled, with a little blob on engine grease staining his cheek as he held the steaming cup of chocolate that she had brought for him. The smile on his face as he had accepted the cup, belied by the heaviness of his eyes.

“Is everything all right?”

He had glanced at her as he shifted over on the crate to make room for her.

“We lost two pilots today: Smenth and Triktar.”

Too her shame, Leia hadn’t known the names.

“Were they new?”

Luke had nodded, sadly. “Yeah….” he had breathed. “Replacements… They never had a chance.”

“I’m sorry…”

It was the following morning that he had left with Red Squadron for Escaal and he had lost so much more there.

Sobered, Leia knew she was not going to be able to get back to sleep any time soon. Carefully, she moved the bedding aside and gently lifted Han’s hand from her. She slipped out of bed and replaced the blankets over the sleeping Corellian.

Quietly, she drew her robe on.

“Wassup?” A deep, sleepy voice questioned.

Leia silently cursed. “It’s okay,” she assured him with a quick kiss, “I’m awake. I’m going to make some hot chocolate.”

“Disgusting stuff,” Han mumbled and turned onto his belly.

Smiling, Leia left the cabin and padded through the ship while tying her robe tightly around her waist.

All was still in the passenger compartment. Both See Threepio and Artoo Detoo were sitting by the Dejarik board, powered down to conserve energy and for a moment, for a split second, Leia was sure she saw Luke slouched over the game platform, trailing his fingers over the squares, absently marking out their edges with his thumb nail and deep in thought.

She blinked, chasing the image from her mind. It had been a clear image, highly defined, and she knew it had appeared simply because she had been thinking of him. She turned away from the board and the droids, determined to get her drink.

A small muted toot stopped her and she turned, smiling when she saw Artoo’s photoreceptor lighting up.

“I’m alright, Artoo,” she assured him. Since Luke had…. Well, since Luke… Artoo had been clinging to her, following her, fussing around her. It seem that the little droid felt as lost as she did in the wake of Horaarn.

Leia stilled, chilled, as the reassured droid powered back down.

How could she have forgotten? How had she allowed so many weeks to pass before remembering what the little machine carried within him?

“Artoo?”

The lights immediately appeared again with a hooted question.

Leia crossed the compartment and crouched before the little robot. “We need to talk.”

The high pitched whistle was another question and it woke See Threepio.

“Oh, my,” Threepio jumped, “Artoo, why are you making all that noise? You’ll wake… Oh, your Highness! I do hope Artoo didn’t waken you.”

“No, Threepio,” Leia said gently, glancing up at the protocol droid. “Can you translate what Artoo says for me, please?”

“Why, of course your Highness! Artoo had just asked what it was you wanted to…”

“No, not that,” Leia cut him off. “Artoo,” she said, her voice a little unsure, wary, but getting straight to the point. “Do you remember Horaarn?”

It was a stupid question, but both droids answered; Artoo with a despairing lament and Threepio with, “Of course, your Highness. Artoo’s memory banks have the capacity to hold…”

“Artoo,” Leia swallowed, trying to phrase her question carefully. Not really knowing if she wanted all of her questions answered, just knowing that she had to ask them. “When you were sliced on Horaarn, you said it had been through an authorisation code from a previous owner…”

Artoo warbled, began to move back and forth on his treads, clearly uncomfortable.

“I need to know who that was,” Leia told him, firmly, reading reluctance in the droid’s movements. “I need to understand how Vader was able to gain access to Luke’s cockpit voice recorder.”

The little droid tooted, mournfully.

“He says that he cannot give you that information, your Highness.”

Frustrated, Leia sat back on her heels, regarding the little droid as she thought quickly. If the information had been protected, if she needed an access code to break into Artoo’s memory, then this could be a lost cause. She would have to take the robot to the technical station on Home One, ask that they shift through Artoo’s memories, that they slice through any encryption and….

…and then she remembered the Tantive and the harassed and hurried hologram recording, the placing of the Death Star plans in Artoo’s memory banks.

“Artoo, do you remember the authorisation code given to me by Captain Antilles of the Tantive?”

A tooted affirmative that Leia didn’t need translated.

“Voice code ‘Epsilon Actual,’ will that enable you to give me the information I’m asking for?”

The dome spun and Artoo let loose a string of whistles.

“Artoo Detoo, the Princess is asking you a very simple question!” Threepio admonished, before addressing Leia. “Your Highness, Artoo states that the code you have cannot unlock the information you seek.”

Leia sighed, biting back her frustration. “Why not?”

There was a reluctant hoot in reply and Leia glanced up at Threepio for explanation.

“He says the memory you are looking for was not created by Captain Antilles, or the crew of the Tantive. It was created long before he was assigned to the consular ship…”

Another hoot…

“… and the information you seek is not encrypted.”

Leia was confused, her question was directed straight at Artoo. “Then why did you say you couldn’t give me the information?”

There was a long flow of chirps and whistles as Artoo explained.

“He states that he was asked not to tell anyone of his owner by General….” Threepio broke off and stared down at Artoo, and Leia could almost feel the droid’s outraged disbelief. “Not that again! Artoo Detoo, you know very well that we only met General Kenobi when…”

“Threepio!” Leia burst, her heart suddenly hammering at the mention of the Jedi Knight. “What’s he saying?”

Threepio turned to her. “Oh dear,” he lamented. “He says that General Kenobi requested that he not divulge any information on his owner to anyone. However, General Kenobi did not have the specific command codes to encrypt the information as Artoo was not his droid. Artoo’s ownership has never been officially transferred to anyone else, not even to the late Captain Antilles, or to Master Luke or yourself.”

Leia could feel a surge of anxiety, of agitation. Did that mean Artoo still legitimately and legally belonged to that previous owner? “So he can tell me?”

More beeps and whistles, a long hoot.

“Your Highness, he says that in respect of General Kenobi’s request that he would rather not say anymore.”

Leia licked her lips, briefly torn by Artoo’s loyalty to Obi-Wan Kenobi and his former owner from so long ago. But she had to know, she had to know how Vader got his information. “Artoo, I’m sorry, but this could be important for Luke.”

_For Luke?_

Why was she thinking of him in the present tense? Luke was dead, how could this be important to him now?

Artoo shuffled and blooped, seeming to say the same as she was thinking.

“Artoo?” She pressed. “Who was your previous owner?”

There was a moment of long hesitation as Artoo seemed to consider her request. He beeped. Twice.

“Anakin Skywalker,” Threepio announced without preamble, then he understood what he had just said. “Oh, my, isn’t that…”

“Luke’s father,” Leia breathed, scarcely able to believe that the little droid who had served on the Tanitve IV under Antilles for so long and who had served Luke so well, had belonged…

_… still belonged…_

…to Luke’s father. The odds for that coincidence must be astronomical.

The Princess licked her lips, hesitating to ask the next question. “Is Anakin Skywalker alive, Artoo?”

Another toot, a blown raspberry.

“Artoo Detoo! That is not an answer!”

“What did he say?” Leia asked dragging her eyes away from Artoo and glancing up at Threepio.

Threepio looked as exasperated as his frozen golden countenance and programming would allow. “He said that it depends on your point of view. A rather unhelpful answer, if you ask me, your Highness. I have no idea where he picked up that expression and…”

“Is he alive?” Leia pressed, waving Threepio quiet.

A chastised bloop and Threepio answered. “Yes.”

Anakin Skywalker was alive! Luke’s father thought lost was alive! So that could mean…. “While we were on Horaarn, where was Anakin Skywalker?”

Artoo screeched, his head turned and Leia’s heart beat quickened, ziss-flies buzzed in her belly when Threepio answered. “Also on Horaarn.”

“And was it Anakin Skywalker who sliced into your memory banks?”

A miserable whistle.

“Oh my,” Threepio burst again, his logic circuits struggling to make sense of the conversation. “It was, your Highness!”

Luke’s father was on Horaarn and yet he hadn’t tried to contact his son, or help him. Instead he accessed Artoo Detoo and took the voice recording and gave it to…

She chilled, felt the blood drain from her not wishing to follow the direction of her thoughts, but this far in she had no other choice but to continue. She had to know.

“Artoo,” her voice was a whisper. She was scared, anxious. “Where was Anakin Skywalker during Luke’s court hearing?”

If Artoo had been able to hang his head Leia was sure he would be doing it right now. The droid was the picture of misery as he whistled and hooted and it pained her to do this to him.

“He was in the court room along with Master Luke,” Threepio supplied, he was also subdued as though picking up on her emotions, but he still sounded perplexed and confused.

The room spun and Leia reached out to steady herself against the dejarik board, but she needed to know, had to know. After all, there was only one person in that room who could possibly have been Luke’s father.

All the others had been Horaarn court dignitaries and security personnel.

She could barely say the words, could barely move her lips and tongue to shape the sounds. “Artoo, is Darth Vader Anakin Skywalker?”

Artoo’s answer was mournful, doleful.

“Oh, my!” Threepio exclaimed, suddenly standing bolt upright, arms jerking, servo-motors whining. “Oh, my…. He is your Highness… but that means that Master Luke was…”

“Vader’s son,” a gruff voice stated from behind her.

Leia gasped. She had been so intent on questioning the droids that she hadn’t heard Han enter the room. He stood casually within the doorway, fully dressed, thumbs hooked into his gun belt, his expression unreadable. He had obviously heard everything.

Leia stood, understanding sliding into place: understanding Vader’s incessant chase since Yavin. It wasn’t the Rebellion he had been pursuing: it had been Luke. It had always been Luke.

His appearance on Escaal. The attack on Ra’imarr. The bait of Cusrean. Luke being singled out and separated during the attack on the space station and almost caught by a tractor beam. The trap and trial of Horaarn. It wasn’t just the pilot who destroyed the Death Star Vader was seeking. The Dark Lord had been trying to claim his son.

And now, more recently, he was trying to avenge his son’s death at the hands of a Rebel soldier.

“Luke didn’t know,” she suddenly said aloud, turning to Han. It seemed important that she say it, that she acknowledge it. That Luke couldn’t have known, that Luke wasn’t something other than what he had always appeared to be; a farmer, a pilot, a trainee Jedi without a master. That this new knowledge did nothing to tarnish his memory. “I don’t believe he knew. How could he know?” She turned to the droids, brows furrowed, trying to make sense of it all. “Did he know?”

Again a whistle, a small toot of denial.

See Threepio glanced up. “No, your Highness. Master Kenobi told Master Luke that Darth Vader had killed his father.”

Leia nodded. That’s what Luke had told her after the Death Star. His face had been tight with anger and loss, mourning his guardians, the elder Jedi Knight and a father he had never known.

Leia leaned against the gaming board, unable to look at Han or the droids. Her mind rambled, refusing to see what she had already subconsciously recognised. “It’s a blessing then, that he never found out. It would have destroyed him. We can’t let this get out, we can’t let anyone know. We can’t allow his memory to be tainted by this. Luke wouldn’t want…”

Han cleared his throat, interrupting her, and merely said her name. “Leia.”

She glanced over at him, saw the dark of his eyes, the grim expression on his face, his stance, the rising of his chest as he spoke her name and she knew it was no use. Han had understood the same as she had.

They had all seen the recording from Horaarn. They all knew Thecla’s shot had landed true. They had all seen him lying bleeding in the snow with Vader by his side.

With his father by his side.

A father who had spent over two years chasing his son across a galaxy was not the type of man to then just allow that son to die and that thought, that knowledge, was unthinkable.

She had denied Luke his death, had fought against the grief and wished him alive and now she was denying him his life and wishing him dead; for she could think of no worse a fate for her friend than to wake up in an Imperial medical facility, to be gravely injured and in Darth Vader’s keeping.

His father’s keeping.

_Dear Gods, where was he? What was happening to him?_

“Luke’s alive,” she stated, whispering with horror, her eyes locked with Han’s. “Somehow… He’s still alive….”

ooOOoo

To be continued...


	24. Interlude: Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor Palpatine is faced with a challenge he cannot resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Dark Times timeline this Interlude should have been fitted in before "Prisoners," but I kept it until last for dramatic purposes. Sorry....
> 
> As always - All previous disclaimers for Dark Times still apply...

** Dark Times: Interlude:  **

** Creation **

The boy had been a corpse when Vader had delivered him; a cadaver through which blood still flowed: artificially oxygenated and pumped around the lifeless body; a carcass kept cool within the medical capsule to slow down the need for energy and oxygen to a brain left damaged by anoxia.

_Palpatine ignored his apprentice and walked around the capsule looking in at the still form lying within, noting the large bacta patch that covered the blackened and scorched blaster shot that had punched into the boy’s chest. It had punctured a hole through the rib cage, nicking the sternum and searing the tissue of the right lung, severing the phrenic nerve and the brachiocephalic artery. The boy had bled out into lungs rendered useless by the loss of the nerve that controlled the diaphragm. Blood loss and suffocation had killed him._

_Palpatine noted the scars left by the emergency surgery that had been performed to repair the damage to the artery and the nerve. He also noted the tubes of blood that entered and exited the chest cavity feeding the body’s circulatory system with vital oxygen. The boy was lucky that Vader’s personal shuttle had been his transport from Horaarn. The shuttle carried Vader’s own medical supplies: blood, plasma, bacta and emergency capsule. A capsule that had been tailored to meet the Sith’s own particular needs for artificial oxygenation. There was also a medic, who had been specifically trained in performing the necessary procedures._

_Walking on, around the pale figure, Palpatine reached out a gnarled hand and touched the tubes that carried fluid, medication and nutrients. He ran his fingers along the pipe that was fed into the boy’s mouth and down his throat feeding a steady flow of bacta into his lungs and chest, flushing through to exit via the drain inserted into the patient’s side where it was collected, filtered and recycled to flush through the boy again._

_He also saw the healing stab wound on his shoulder, the cut sliced into his palm and, older still, a thin scar and yellow bruising on the pale, drawn face… below which fresh bruising around his throat marked out the shape of a hand._

_It would seem that young Skywalker had somehow provoked his father some time before his death._

_Finally he withdrew his hand and turned away, regarding Vader, dismissing the boy, “He is dead.”_

_He smiled at the rage and grief that roiled from Vader, the scorching denial torn from the vocoder. “No, he lives! I can feel him still…”_

_It was very much like the denial he had uttered when informed of Amidala’s death._

_Holding up a placating hand, Palpatine stretched out with his feelings, tracing the boy’s body with the Force. He placed a hand on the cool forehead and probed deeper, looking for the essence that Vader spoke of. There was nothing; just a stillness, just a bleak hollow shell where once there would have been…_

_There…_

_A small flicker, a minute light, a tiny flame guttering against the wind of death._

_He opened his eyes, glared at Vader, black pupils gleaming with sudden fury…_

She had failed!

_…and with guiling temptation._

_He could let death extinguish the flame and watch Vader’s reaction; set the Dark Lord loose once more upon the Galaxy; a bleak man, a hate filled man, causing pain and destruction because that was all he knew._

_Or…_

_He could save the boy, wrench him back to life. Allow the flame to grow, to catch and blaze into conflagration._

_He had felt Skywalker’s gusting powers, had felt how strong the youth could become. He had felt the touch of the dark side during the Cusrean battle, had felt the pain and the pleasure of it when the station had erupted into a million pieces. However, he had also felt the brightness that was the boy’s heart, the light that even now flickered tremulously within the Force. Life where none should still exist._

_Palpatine closed his eyes, gathered the Force to him. A dark squall, a storm of possibilities, rose within him as he searched through the pleated folds, searching for this boy’s destiny._

_Never had he been successful in bringing back one so far into death. If he could take the boy’s life, if he could hold it within his own hands as he had with no other, he could nurture it, mould it, shape it into the Sith that was the unfulfilled potential of the father._

_And there!_

_See him…_

_The vision was fleeting, a mere flash within the Force, a transitory image of bristling power and corruption, of blackness and foul malevolence. A figure bending a knee, bowing a head and a smooth voice…_

_“My Master…”_

_How glorious Luke Skywalker would be! How wondrous a creature; powerful and formidable. The darkest of lights in the deepest of nights._

_He opened his eyes and looked to Vader._

_The father pitted against son. The son against father and a Galaxy trembling under the power of their struggle._

_The desire was too strong, the compulsion too demanding. The challenge to his powers, to test his own abilities, was tempting. The need to know if he could do this, if he could bring this corpse back from the brink and create the being he had just seen was enthralling and enticing._

_“If I do this,” he whispered aloud, his voice dragging the words. “If I do this… I do it alone.”_

_Vader stepped forward, his shadow falling across the capsule as though to protect the young man within. “Master, he is my…”_

_Palpatine turned on him and Vader sank to his knee, at last remembering his place. “I am aware of who he is,” he hissed. Spittle speckled the floor by Vader, droplets spattered his helmet. “Did you think you could hide him from me? Did you think I could not feel the stench of light within the Force? Did you truly believe that the Rebel pilot could remain hidden from me?” He looked down in scorn at the Dark Lord. “Oh, my friend, my failed apprentice, I have long known of Anakin Skywalker’s son.”_

_Vader was quiet, subdued, waiting: knowing he had no choice but to do his master’s bidding. His son’s life depended upon it._

_“I do it alone,” Palpatine repeated, looking back down into the capsule. His word was final and Vader knew it. “And you will return to your duties. You will burn across the Galaxy as you once did, my friend, you will hunt down this Rebellion, this Alliance, and you will scatter them, you will destroy them….”_

_He paused, placed a gnarled hand upon dull, blond hair, knowing Vader had understood the unspoken threat to his son. “And you will not return unless I summon you.”_

_There was a brief hesitation, a minute moment of internal struggle, of considered rebellion. Then Vader intoned, “Yes, my Master.” Two decades of servitude and the driving desire to save his child by any means, by all means, dulling any thought of further argument._

Sidious moved his court back to the summit of the Emperor Palpatine Surgery and Reconstruction Centre. He had given no explanation, and as Emperor his word was final. For days and nights, he went without sleep, spending hours in meticulous study and meditation and even more hours with the boy himself. Standing by a bacta tank, deeply submerged in the Dark Side of the Force, he had woven his power through the still body, carefully manipulating the midi-chlorians that teemed in the boy’s blood, rebuilding him from the cellular level.

Slowly, gradually, Skywalker’s body began to respond. Floating serenely in the bacta, the boy's body began to heal.

After days of work, Skywalker's lungs had reached a point where he could be weaned from the external blood oxygenation. Artificial respiration forced oxygen down the trachea into the bronchial tubes. His heart, however, still required external stimulation to keep it beating.

In the days that followed, under Palpatine's careful manipulation of the midi-chlorians, even those supports could be reduced and finally removed altogether.

Now Palpatine, Darth Sidious, grinned as the limp body was pulled from the bacta and laid on the slab of durasteel: the same cold, hard surface; the same platform; the same dark room that had been so instrumental in saving the young Darth Vader’s life. Here, Sidious had brought the mutilated, burned body: sculpting Vader; chiselling the distraught and guilt ridden boy into the entity the galaxy now knew and feared.

Two decades ago Vader had shrieked and screamed, ignored by the unfeeling droids as they tended to his injuries with pitiless precision. Vader’s son, however, was quiet: comatose; lost within a brain damaged by anoxia.

The boy had been without oxygen for a significant period and the medics had been quite specific about their expectations for recovery.

_“Excellency,” the droid intoned, dolefully. “The patient scored three on the Galactic Coma Scale. He shows no response to any stimuli, pupils are fixed and dilated and scans show no significant brain activity.”_

_“But there is activity?” Palpatine’s attention was fixed on the young man floating loosely within the bacta tank._

_“There are random electrical pulses, enough to cause the seizures. However, I believe these to be simply…”_

_“Just tell me, droid.”_

_“There are significant acquired injuries to areas of the cerebral cortex, the frontal and temporal lobes and…”_

_“And this means?”_

_“Impaired motor functions, speech, language, sight, memory, understanding and personality, behaviour and…”_

_“Can the damage be reversed?”_

_“Not by conventional medicine, Sire. There is little we can do for such a serious brain injury. I do not believe it to be survivable.”_

_“You may leave…”_

_Palptine waited until the One-Bee unit had left the room. He laid a hand against the cool transparisteel of the bacta tank, reaching out with his mind to the boy within. “I can feel you,” he whispered as Skywalker’s body convulsed within the tank. A tone sounded, lights flashed their alarm and medication automatically flowed into the subject’s veins to calm the sudden seizure._

_Sidious grinned. These spasms had not been caused by the brain injury. On some level, on a primitive level, the boy was reacting to his presence through the Force._

_“There is no hiding!" Sidious warned him. "I will find you and when I do…. You will be mine.”_

It had been meticulous work, needing unbroken concentration and patience. Sidious lost himself within the Force again as he influenced the boy’s healing. Slowly new synapses, neurons and glial developed. Fibrous axons spread and branched, generating fresh pathways and bridges between new and existing brain matter. Over the weeks, as Palpatine worked, scans began to show increased activity. His pupils began to respond to light, his body to pain. Muscles began to flex and straighten. Little by little, Luke Skywalker’s mind began to reconnect and develop.

The doctors and the droids had said it was impossible. They said brain cells could not regenerate, could not undergo mitosis and divide. They did not know the Force. They did not know the Dark Side.

And once the brain was reformed, Sidious had spent the final few weeks within the boy’s mind itself. Skywalker’s consciousness was a jumble of disconnected images and memories: shifting, random snatches of thoughts and snapshot images and feelings.

_Twin suns setting… a warm, breeze carrying the scent of freshly baked bread…_

_“Luke put that down! Suns, boy, you will be the death of me.”_

_A man’s face, a worn face smiling... being picked up and swung around until the dessert was blur. Laughing…_

_“Wormie, wormie! You’re a worm Skywalker!”_

_Exhilaration as he swooped down into the canyon, piloting the tiny vessel through tight turns and…_

_A ceiling, with colour, above at table… a taste of milk… a twist of anger. “But it’s a whole ‘nother year!”_

_… a burst of light, relief, friends calling over the com.. “Great shot, kid! That was one in a million!”…_

_Falling…. falling… wind ripping against a flight suit as the ground rushed him…_

_“Flyby…”_

_Pain! Stop… just stop… please…_

_Dade!_

_Innocents. So many Innocents… I felt… pleasure…_

_“I… win… father…”_

Everything was disconnected, chaotic, disorganised. The experiences that had shaped the boy, that had given him his identity, were lost in the fog of amnesia: potentially unrecoverable... leaving him malleable to Sidious' influence. And so Palpatine lured his patient, urged him forward, lighting the dark of his coma and dragging him up from the deepest recesses of his mind.

And then, the boy had his first dream. It was fleeting, ephemeral, an image of a woman in simple woven clothing standing by a dome at dusk shouting his name…

_“Luke!”_

It was the moment the Emperor had been waiting for. It was proof that Skywalker's mind was processing subconscious thought. It was the vindication of Sidious' work and it had left the doctors and medical droids perplexed and confused, still cautioning that the boy could not emerge whole from the coma.

He did not need to be whole, he just needed to wake.

And surface he would. Today the boy would wake. It was time to release him from the prison that his body had become. It was time to show his creation the door; the way out.

Skywalker only had to take it.

Palpatine walked around the platform as Luke’s legs and wrists were secured into the table’s restraints by the droids. He waited, watching, while the bacta was cleaned from the limp and loose body. The boy’s head rolled loosely on the flat surface, eyes partially open, but showing no awareness; just blank, sightless staring. An oxygen mask still covered his nose and mouth and sensors attached to his chest monitored a steady heartbeat.

The Emperor stood for a moment looking down at the unblemished face of the boy as he waited for the droids to finish and leave. There was no doubt Skywalker resembled his father in looks, if not in stature, but could this boy be the promise that his father had been unable to fulfil?

Alone at last, he reached up and removed his cowl, folding it carefully over his shoulders. He stepped closer to the table and took the boy’s head into his hands. He gathered the darkness to him, drawing it in and subfusc shadows deepened around the chamber. His yellowed eyes flared, the vein in his temple pulsed with pressure and he focused all of his power, all of his strength, on the boy lying helpless before him.

A soft, blue corona of light trailed and sparked over his fingers, the glow growing in intensity until…

He suddenly snarled, viciously releasing the power into the boy, shunting his presence into the boy’s mind. Skywalker stiffened, arched, limbs pulling against the restraints and an inarticulate sound was driven from him by the sudden contraction of his diaphragm.

Holding tight to Luke’s head, Palpatine rammed into his mind again. Energy crackled and sparked, and another cry ripped from the boy’s throat. Muscles bunched. Legs and arms jerked and pulled against the restraints and still he pressed, using the Dark Side to bludgeon into the boy’s mind again and again and again, until….

He was pushed out…

So strong was the youth’s response that Palpatine staggered back, hands releasing Skywalker’s head, finger nails scrapping against scalp and drawing blood, pulling away strands of hair.

Luke gasped, chest heaving, eyes open.

Breathlessly, quickly, Palpatine turned his patient’s head toward him. The boy’s pupils contracted in the light of the room and, just for a moment, just an instant, they touched him. They saw him. They registered him.

“I am your Master,” he declared to the blue gaze that fixed upon him.

Skywalker’s eyes rolled in his head as awareness left him, as he lapsed back into unconsciousness, his body fell limp and a thin river of saliva escaped his mouth to pool in the side of the oxygen mask.

This was but the first step in Skywalker’s journey to full consciousness. There would be many trials for the boy to come as he continued to wake and to heal, as he was shifted and crafted into the beast his master had foreseen.

Sidious grinned, pleased by the result.

It was time to bring Vader back from Hoth.

The boy was no longer a corpse.

ooOOoo

To Be continued...


	25. For Darkness Restores (Prologue and Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue and Part One for "For Darkness Restores."
> 
> Two Jedi contemplate the training of Vader's offspring. Meanwhile on Imperial Centre Palpatine's creation continues to stir while Vader watches from the sideline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to Lovesdaryl and Kazlynh for kindly beta reading.
> 
> Disclaimer: Star Wars and it's associated characters and situations belong solely to Disney/Lucasfilm, I make no profit from my fanfic efforts.

** Dark Times: Chapter Seven **

** For Darkness Restores… **

(Title thanks to Joseph Brodsky’s poem “On Love”)

**Prologue**

It was raining. The deluge falling straight down, the droplets so fast and so numerous that they looked like continuous sheets of water. The noise of the storm was strangely calming; it was a rush of water, a constant hiss in the background. It cascaded onto the roof of his dwelling, pouring off in steady rivulets to fill the pits and dips in the ground outside, creating rippling pools and puddles. Stirring the food in the pot over the warming fire, Yoda glanced up and out of the window opening and smiled at the deluge, thankful that he had been home and dry before the downpour started.

Turning away, mouth watering at the aroma of his meal, he crossed the dirt floor of his home and settled down on his cot to wait for the meat to finish cooking. Still listening to the rain and closing his eyes he tentatively reached out for the Force, drawing it too him, drawing strength from its energy, from the teeming life that had made Dagobah an ideal place of exile for a Jedi Master. It was a placed shrouded in the Force, and shrouded by the Force. It had darkness about it and, near a dank hole of pure malevolence, he had made his home to hide his presence within the Galaxy.

Strangely, despite the lure and the call of the Dark Side, this planet had given him much needed peace and sanctuary for two decades.

He smiled, ears turning upwards, as a familiar presence gradually filtered into his awareness. Without opening his eyes he said, “Feel you I do, Obi-Wan.”

“I should hope so, master,” there was a smile in Obi-Wan’s voice, too. It made him sound younger and not like the elder Jedi he had been when he died. “Or else I would have been concerned that the rain had somehow dampened your abilities.”

“Hmmm,” Yoda murmured sitting still and keeping his eyes closed. “Refreshing the rain is. Late this season it is.” He opened his eyes and quirked an eyebrow in the general direction Obi-Wan’s presence. He did not need to see his old friend to know that he was there. “But not here to discuss the rain are you,” he admonished.

There was silence from Obi-Wan but Yoda could pick up on the Jedi’s unease and his ears turned down as a roll of thunder broke across the sky outside.

“Come about the boy, you have.”

“Master…”

“Talked about this we did,” Yoda rose from his cot, lifted his cane and walked across to the cooking pot. “Feel it you do, just as I do.” He looked up seeing the ceiling of his house, but feeling the galaxy weigh on his shoulders. “Darker still the Force has become.”

“Master… we cannot sit this out. We cannot allow Palpatine to corrupt another. Luke is not dead.”

Yoda’s eyes closed with pain and sorrow. “As well, he might be.”

“Master, we failed Anakin, we cannot fail Luke.”

Yoda turned around. “And what would you do, Obi-Wan? The boy you knew, gone he is….” The ancient Jedi Master faltered, all too aware that the words he had just spoken were a direct echo from the past. He took in a breath, let out a sigh. “His presence in the Force fractured it is. Whatever he was is no more.”

“If we could reach him, if I were to reveal myself to him.”

“As you did when death was upon him?”

“He saw me, master, and called my name. If that memory remains within him we may be able to…”

“Reach him?” Yoda finished Obi-Wan’s sentence with a question. “Unable to leave Dagobah am I. Old I have become, Obi-Wan. No match am I for Darth Vader and his Emperor. Lost the boy is. Lost we all are.”

The rain fell on, hissing in the background and the warming fire cracked and popped under Yoda’s cooking pot.

“There is the girl,” Obi-Wan stated, quietly.

Yoda thumped his stick on the floor and turned around. “No!” He said with some finality. “Hidden she must remain.”

“Master, Leia has her father’s power, she would be a powerful Jedi. More powerful than…”

“No,” Yoda said again. “Too dangerous to awaken her now. A target she would become…”

“Master,” Obi-Wan implored. “We cannot allow the Dark Side to continue. You are the last of the Jedi and you have said it yourself; you are old. When you die, the Jedi die and then Palpatine has won and the Sith will only grow and spread the darkness further.”

Yoda closed his eyes, his ears turning down, his shoulders slumping; he knew Obi-Wan spoke the truth.

“Anakin’s children are our only hope.”

“More born in the Galaxy than Skywalker’s issue,” Yoda told him. “Other children strong in the Force.”

“And they are either discovered and killed, or remain unknown and ignorant and none are as strong as Anakin’s twins. The children of the Chosen One…”

“Umph….” Yoda snorted, “Chosen One. Misread the Prophecy must have been. Failed to bring the promised balance Anakin did.”

There was a smile in Obi-Wan’s voice, a sad smile, a smile of regret. “Anakin’s not dead yet, Master. The Prophecy could still be fulfilled.”

“Persistent you are, Obi-Wan,” Yoda noted, sighing. “’The negotiator.’ Well-earned that title was.” He turned around seeing only his hut, his bed and his few belongings, but feeling the presence of the Jedi Master all around him.

Briefly Yoda reached out into the Force skimming through the darkness, looking for the little light that remained in the Galaxy.

The breath caught in his throat and he pulled back as though stung. He shuddered in shock, eyes wide at what he had seen within the Force. He struggled to calm himself, to slow his racing heart, before finally exhaling in defeat. Troubled he looked down at the dirt floor of his home, tracing the grainy surface with his walking stick. “Then go, Obi-Wan, and bring me Skywalker’s child.”

ooOOoo

** Dark Times: Chapter 7  **

** For Darkness Restores **

** Part One **

_Darkness…_

_Sound._

_A thrum. A beat._

_Darkness…_

_A thrum. A beat. Murmurs._

_Darkness…_

_Sound._

_A thrum. A beat. Murmurs. Voices._

_Darkness…_

_A thrum. A beat. Murmurs. Voices. Words…_

_“… still… stable… consciousness… waking…”_

_A light._

_Bright. Painful._

_Darkness…_

_A thrum. A beat. Murmur. Voices. Words._

_Bright. Painful. Shadow. Face._

_“I am your Master.”_

_Darkness…_

ooOOoo

This was the first time Vader had seen his son since placing him in Palpatine’s care.

He had been ordered away from Imperial Centre, sent on a mission to burn a swathe of destruction across the Galaxy having no other choice but to leave Luke with his master. Using his anger, his burning hatred, he had gloried in the ruin he wrought, revelled in the death and devastation he had left in his wake as he chased every hint and lead to the Rebellion; to the alliance of traitors who had sheltered and concealed his child from him. He had razed villages, cities, countries, continents and planets looking for the ones who had given his son refuge and succour. He had hunted their fleet, harrying and harassing and destroying cargo haulers, freighters and battle cruisers every time he had caught up with them.

The names and places were seared into his mind, branded in his memory: Antar IV, Dagelin Minor, Nadiem and Hoth. Tens of thousands had died as Vader rid himself of his anger and frustration at having to leave his son alone and helpless with Palpatine, with Sidious, with the vile creature that the former chancellor had become.

There had been no other way to save Luke. No other way to protect and nurture the tiny flicker of life that had remained within his grievously injured son.

_“I… w..in… fath..er…”_

How those words haunted him. How they taunted. The image of his son bleeding out onto the Horaarn snow had been seared into his memory to rise every time he closed his eyes, every time he paused, every time he reached for the Force. The clarity of those few moments were engrained into his mind; the thick blood spilling from Luke’s mouth, the choking and gurgling as Luke fought for breath. The jerks of Luke’s dying body, the kicks of his legs as Vader pulled him into his arms.

The panic and horror and overwhelming sense of déjà vu. This was not the first time he had held someone he…

_… loved…_

…. valued as they died.

_“Oh, my son. My grown up son. I am so proud of you.”_

His mother had smiled and she had died.

Luke had also smiled as he succumbed to his injures. His eyes, his bright blue eyes, dulling and dimming, becoming fixed and unfocused as the life left him.

_“I… w..in…fath..er…”_

Those words and that smile. In his final moments Luke had understood. Luke had recognised his sire, his father, and had remained a Rebel to the end.

Such courage. Such tenacity. Such strength.

_My son._

The moments following had been frantic as he had lifted Luke from the ground, turning for the shuttle only to find the medical capsule and the medics already behind him and he realised it had only been mere seconds since the shot.

_It had felt a life time._

He had placed his son in the capsule and Luke was rushed into the shuttle as a second shot resounded within its belly and his son’s assassin was dragged, stunned, to the back of the compartment.

The ship did not move, did not lift off and depart for the Executor until Luke’s body was hooked up to the capsule’s sensors, his wounds dressed and his blood replaced with the reserves of Vader’s own; carried wherever he went. Arteries and veins were threaded with lines and tubes and blood flowed out to be externally oxygenated and returned to be artificially pumped around Luke’s vascular system.

Once aboard the Executor, once they were in hyperspace and rushing to Imperial Centre, he had stood to the side watching as the surgeons worked, perfecting and completing the field medic’s efforts.

And all the while he could feel the life still within his son, he could feel the infinitesimal pulse within the Force. There were no feelings, no thoughts, no consciousness that he could recognise as Luke, just that minute vibration and all the while he had expected it to simply wink out of existence like a failing candle flame in the softest breeze.

It hadn’t. It had flickered and dimmed. Flared and sputtered. Fell to a tiny glow... and Palpatine had nurtured it, fed it kindling and now…

Now Luke lived. Now Luke strengthened; his presence in the Force growing, flaming, the small spark of life now burning as strongly as ever.

It was only a few scant days ago that the Force had briefly exploded. The violence of the flash, the power of the shock…

_“I am you master!”_

… jolting him from his meditation. Throwing him viciously from restful darkness.

He knew what had happened even before Palpatine had contacted him to tell him that Luke had woken and finally…. _finally_ … gave permission for Vader to return to Imperial Centre, his temporary exile from the planet called to an overdue halt.

“You have served me well, my friend,” Palpatine had placated, via the hologram transmission, but Vader could hear the humour in his voice, the dripping guile. “It is time for you to return… He has awakened.”

The Executor was turned around, course plotted and engaged for a journey of several days and for every one of the long, drawn-out, days Vader had locked himself away warning that any interruption before they had reached their destination would result in immediate termination of the offender’s position. No one doubted the meaning behind his order.

Luke had awakened!

The very thought sent a thrill through him; a strange concoction of hope and fear, of rising anticipation and crushing despair. Yes, Luke had wakened. Luke had survived, had stirred, and the Force churned with wild expectation and yet he was not in charge of his son’s destiny, he was not the one guiding his son into his new life and he had to wonder…

…fear…

… what kind of creature Palpatine planned to mould from his child and if that tiny spark he had felt within the shell of Luke Skywalker would survive Palpatine’s manipulations.

On arrival at the Pinnacle Tower he had been denied immediate access to Luke, had crushed the life from the officer who had delivered the news, tossed him aside before striding to his master’s temporary throne room; interrupting court. Dipping his knee and head before Palpatine’s sovereignty he had ground out. “What is thy bidding, my Master?”

Palpatine had cleared the room before rising and stepping down the stairs towards his supplicant.

_“You think harshly of me, my friend.”_

_Vader swallowed, allowed a breath before answering, kept his eyes to the floor. “He is my son.”_

_“Hmmm,” Palpatine murmured, pursing his thin lips. “You have always been fettered by attachment, Lord Vader. Shackled first by your mother, Kenobi and the Jedi Order and then by Senator Amidala and now your offspring. It was your weakness and it remains your weakness.”_

_“I killed Kenobi,” Vader offered, anger biting at the Emperor’s barbed taunt. He drew himself up, standing without invitation as Palpatine walked past him, “and I…”_

_The Emperor was nodding as he walked. “Yes, yes,” he conceded, placating his apprentice; this was an old argument, “and you killed your wife for her betrayal.”_

_Vader was silent, quiet rage and grief at the reminder…_

_…_ the lie _…_

_…coiling as he walked beside his master. It was a familiar place for him, a reminder of the past; the Chancellor and his young Jedi friend walking together as one offered sage advice to the other._

_“Ah!” Palpatine grinned, picking up on his feelings. “You think me a liar now that you know your offspring was born.” He stopped, turned and looked up into the dark visage, the fixed expression that hid the coiling, blistering fire that burned beneath. “Do you think because she lived long enough to birth the boy that you are not responsible for her death? You wounded her, weakened her, your actions led to her death. You killed her, never forget that.”_

_Lesson delivered, Palpatine resumed walking. Silence hung between them until they reached the doors of the throne room, but the Force was churning, roiling with Vader’s grief and anger. His searing hatred for his once-mentor barely held in check._

_Hiding his grin, Palaptine waved a hand and the doors swung open. Stepping through he broke the cloying quiet. “I sense much conflict within you, Lord Vader. A conflict that I have not felt since before the birth of the Empire. Your feelings are unclear, clouded once more by sentimentality.”_

_“He is my son,” Vader stated again by way of explanation. Luke was his child, darkness or not, it was that simple._

_“Hmmm,” Palaptine mused, thin lips pressed together in annoyance. “I feared that this might happen. You always did let your heart lead where your head should prevail.”_

_A squad of Imperial Guards stepped in behind them. Their red robes rustling, brushing across smooth floor of the great hallway as they walked._

_“You should know, my friend, that the boy is no longer your son. That Rebel is dead, undeserving of your… compassion,” he said the word with revulsion, as though it defiled him somehow. As though a creature of darkness could be tainted, sullied, by such a notion. “His flesh may be of your flesh, but his emerging mind is mine. I have shaped him, crafted him. I have given him the opportunity to redeem for his past incarnation with a new identity.”_

_Vader walked, saying nothing but feeling everything._

_“I have seen within his mind. He remembers nothing, his mind is blank like a newborn’s…”_

_And Vader was given hope at the lie he heard within his master’s voice._

_“… ready to be filled, ready to be trained and fashioned to my design. He is my creation and his only wish will be to do my bidding and…”_

_Vader’s fists curled, the fires of outrage blazed white hot and Palpatine chuckled beside him in glee at the waves of scorching anger that burned through the Force._

_“… should he disappoint me, I will not hesitate to destroy him.” The Emperor stopped and turned to his long time apprentice, looking up at the blank, expressionless façade. “Are we clear, Lord Vader?”_

_Vader gritted his teeth and bowed his head in submission; he had no other choice. This was darkness, this was the Sith and his son’s life depended on Palpatine’s whims. He forced the words out. “We are clear, my master.”_

_Palpatine resumed walking. “Then you will go to the detention levels and bring my agent to me. It seems the boy is struggling to surface from his coma. Although his memory and mind are impaired the medics suggest a… familiar… face and voice could reach his instinctive subconscious and ground him. I do not believe that you or Major Rhovan would be appropriate candidates and I am given to understand that young Skywalker and the girl were becoming close.”_

_Vader’s mind was a storm at the contradiction from Palpatine. His son remembered nothing and yet he needed a familiar face to help ease him from his coma. Vader agreed that Rhovan or himself would be unsuitable to sit by his bedside; they were both too firmly linked to the trauma that Luke had suffered, both too involved in the hurt that Luke had endured. But Palpatine’s agent, she…_

_“She was the one who shot him,” he stated, unable to keep the question from his tone._

_A chuckle from the despot. “Yes, she did. But consider her motives. Consider her position in the Alliance. She was mistakenly believing she was fulfilling her mission for me by killing Skywalker, but what was truly in her mind? What was in Skywalker’s when he saw her?”_

_Vader’s mind worked quickly, pieces of information falling into place. The woman had appeared on_ _Ra'imar helping Luke into his fighter; a helmeted figure, features obscured by distance, by the smoke of battle. She had appeared on Horaarn to shoot his son in the chest. Her mission had been to keep father and son apart, to watch Skywalker from within the Alliance ranks. All this time, Palpatine had known of his child, just as Vader had suspected._

_Did Luke know what she was, did he suspect?_

_Vader had watched the holonet broadcast of the assassination attempt. He had seen the determination on her face, the willingness to die for her mission, her cause and yet… he had also seen the compassion in her eyes and had been told of his son’s demand._

_“Do it.”_

_Both expecting to die. Both prepared to die._

_Both robbed of the chance._

_“She was being merciful,” he intoned._

_“Yes,” Palpatine hissed. “She was trying to save him from you, from me. She betrayed us both, my friend.”_

_“And yet she lives,” Vader pointed out._

_Another chuckle. “I had intended on leaving her where she is. She understands the price for betrayal, she knows what my expectations of her were and yet she acted against me. Skywalker was not to die.”_

_Again Vader sensed the lie._

_“She lives only because she did, in her own way, attempt to fulfil her mission.”_

_“How so?”_

_Palpatine grinned, yellow and blackened teeth bared and framed by thin lips. “She kept Skywalker from you. She came between a father and a son and you, my friend, have damaged, burned and wounded the Rebellion because of it. The Alliance is scattered and harried in the wake of Horaarn and Hoth and it will not be long before they crumble completely. I would call that a success…._

_“… Yes, bring her to me, Lord Vader. Let us use her compassion for your dead son to bring my creation to life and then we can use him to crush the lingering Rebellion.”_

Vader now stood in an antechamber looking in through the one-way window at his son as he lay sleeping on a form fitting medical bed. Luke was tilted upright by the bed to ease his breathing, his body warm and alive, and his heart beating strongly, his lungs breathing on their own; pulling in oxygen provided by the thin nasal cannula that was threaded across his face. The blaster wound had healed, the scar fading to a patch of pale skin thanks to bacta immersion.

The Dark Lord had learned that Luke had only just begun to open his eyes and he was struggling to remain conscious, prone to slipping back into sleep after only a few minutes and retaining no memory of his previous wakefulness. His brain was unable to lay down new pathways and new memories and his eyes would barely focus before his eyelids would flutter and close and he would be lost once more; his new world forgotten.

Which is why Palpatine had called for his agent. He had thought a recognisable face would spark something within Luke’s brain, a feeling of familiarity that could lay down a foundation on which to build. The woman’s presence might anchor him and she could be something for the Emperor to use to manipulate the boy as he had used Padme to manipulate his father.

Vader’s anger and grief was raw, coldly burning, that he, the boy’s father, was not to be by his son’s side. However, he understood and had agreed that the sight of him could be overwhelming for Luke’s emerging consciousness. It was better that Luke be introduced to his father once his mind had healed, once his mind had developed.

Vader’s head dipped down. His measured breathing cycle continuing unabated despite his raging emotions.

_Guilt…_

It was necessary. It was needed. To ensure his son’s survival this accursed location, where his own persona had been constructed in pain and darkness, had been the only place in the galaxy where Luke could be saved and Palpatine was the only person with enough power and knowledge of the Force to compel the boy’s body to heal.

_But at what cost?_

At what cost to the Galaxy? At what cost to Luke?

He brought his head up, eyes burning behind the mask; Luke was alive and growing stronger by the day and soon all that would change…

Soon…

The Dark Lord stiffened, sensing Palpatine approaching and the door of the antechamber opened, the Emperor entering, robes rustling as he walked and it reminded Vader of the vipers on Tatooine that would skim across the sand, scales swishing before striking.

He turned and dipped to his knee as Palpatine approached.

“He is near waking,” Palpatine noted without preamble and without acknowledging Vader’s veneration. He stopped before the one-way window gazing in at his creation as the boy’s body jerked on the bed and his head rolled on the pillow. “Can you feel him?”

Vader drew himself to his feet to stand by his master. “Yes, Master.”

Palpatine closed his eyes and Vader could feel him reaching out within the Force to touch Luke’s emerging presence; it bled into the Force, leaking through spaces and fractures creating haphazard patterns like a puzzle that never quite joined, pieces that didn’t quite fit.

There were no thoughts. No coherence. No understanding. Luke’s mind was like an empty, darkened chamber into which dust-filled light seeped through cracks in a broken, boarded window.

A moan filtered into the antechamber, a gasp, and again Luke’s body jolted and shuddered, arms and legs caught by padded restraints that secured him to the bed for his own protection.

Palpatine abruptly turned and stepped through the door into Luke’s room, leaving Vader alone. The Dark Lord watched as the Emperor stepped to Luke’s side just in time for the boy’s eyelids to flicker open.

At first there was a hazy emptiness, then awareness and confusion filled the blue eyes, Palpatine reached out a clawed hand, took Luke’s chin and turned the boy’s head toward him.

“I am your master,” he intoned, using the Force to add weight and sway to his words.

Vader closed his eyes at the sudden cut of pain at Palpatine’s words. His helmet dipped, and he reached for the Force to centre himself, to purge the weakness of his feelings.

He was a Sith Lord, not a father.

Luke slowly blinked, eyes staring up at the man standing above him.

“I am your master,” Palpatine told him again. Repeating the words as he always did when the youth’s eyes opened, imprinting the message… no… not imprinting it. Branding it, burning it into Luke’s inchoate mind.

Vader opened his eyes as Palpatine repeated the words for a third time, anger and choler colouring his words and the Force deepened and darkened with the Emperor’s frustration at the lack of acknowledgement from the youth. A thin trickle of saliva ran from Luke’s mouth and Palpatine withdrew his hand with a noise of disgust, wiping the offending fluid away on his robes.

Humoured Vader smiled. Luke may not know it but he had just won a small victory against his new master and had made him retreat.

Suddenly the youth stiffened on the bed, his attention on Palpatine wavered and, with poorly controlled, jerking movements, Luke’s head turned on the pillow to stare directly at the window and at Vader.

All Luke was seeing was a blank wall, but… His son had felt him! Had sensed him! Luke knew he was there! Heart beating a little faster with a combination of excitement, wonder and dread, Vader could feel Luke searching for him. The youth’s actions were instinctive, were a reaction to his presence and not their biological relationship, but he had turned from his master to seek his father and that was a slight Palpatine would not tolerate.

Palpatine’s eyes flashed toward him, there was a spike of fury in the Force.

Vader closed himself off, locked down his barriers, shutting down access to his son. It was necessary to save Luke and himself from Palpatine’s wrath. He had seen beings terminated for lesser slights to the Emperor. He steeled himself for what was coming…

… and Palpatine relaxed. The scorching heat of anger was driven down to simmer and boil just beneath his passive surface. He turned his attention back to Luke, rolled the youth’s head back on the pillow until the blue eyes once more fixed on him.

“My child,” he soothed, his voice betraying none of his ire. “Your master has a gift for you. Something… someone… to help you. Someone who knows you. Someone close.”

Vader turned away as the door to Luke’s room opened and Palpatine’s double agent entered. He had no wish to see this. No wish to watch as his son was manipulated and lied to just as he had once been manipulated and controlled by half-truths and falsehoods cleverly hidden in the folds of fact.

_My Child…_

The Emperor’s words were deliberate. A message to the boy’s father that Luke was no longer his, that Luke now belonged to Palpatine. His being, his soul, indeed the very memories that Luke would recover, that Luke would lay down along new neural pathways would all be created and controlled by the Sith Master.

Here his father had no sway. Here his father would have no say, no purpose. He had been summoned here only to see and hear this moment; another of Palpatine’s lessons.

Lesson learned and knowing what Palpatine wanted, knowing what his orders would be without being told, Vader reluctantly turned on his heel and strode from the medical centre. He headed straight to the landing platform and his waiting shuttle, desolation trailing at his heels.

His place was in the Galaxy. His place was with his fleet hunting for a rebellion that barely existed and not with a boy who was his son in flesh only.

ooOOoo

To be Continued....


	26. For Darkness Restores Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palpatine gives Thecla and Rhovan tasks to do... and meanwhile Leia and Han continue their own journey with what remains of the Rebel Alliance.
> 
> As for Luke Skywalker... he is no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lovesdaryl...
> 
> All Previous Disclaimers for Dark Times still apply...

** Dark Times: Chapter 7  **

** For Darkness Restores **

** Part Two **

Thecla bowed her head to her master, deliberately keeping her eyes away from the figure lying on the bed; not yet having permission to look upon her master’s new acquisition. “I am yours to command master,” she spoke the words quietly, her voice still roughened with disuse during her weeks of incarceration.

Vader had taken her straight to Palpatine after removing her from the cell in the bowels of the Palace. Her mind still staggering from the Dark Lord’s statement…

_“The patient is waking. The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face.”_

… and she had immediately known of whom who the Dark Lord spoke and, glancing at Rhovan, she had seen that same unspoken understanding flare in the Major’s grey eyes. No-one acknowledged it, not Vader when he had taken her arm in his grasp and pulled her from the cell, not Rhovan when he had stepped aside to allow them past and not herself when the Dark Lord guided her to a waiting turbolift that took her straight to the prison’s separate and secluded landing platform.

_Skywalker was alive!_

She had failed. She had failed her mission for her master. She had failed to keep father and son apart. She had failed Luke.

 _“Do it!”_ He had demanded, knowing…. _Knowing_ why she was there. Knowing exactly what he asked of her. Those blue eyes, vibrant and understanding of her task. He had accepted it. He had looked for it. He had wanted it.

_“Do it!”_

And she had.

She had pulled the trigger. That one, abrupt, shot had caught him at almost point blank range. It had sent him flying backward and down the ramp of the shuttle to drop from its side onto the snow outside.

It had been a fatal shot. She knew it! Had felt it as soon as the bolt of light had left the muzzle, as soon as she had felt the kick of the blaster in her hand. She knew it had been a clean kill. She had been well trained, she had killed many times and she was well acquainted with death and yet, still she had failed.

_Skywalker was alive!_

Thecla had allowed the Dark Lord to steer her, her body moving automatically as he led her from the shuttle and into the depths of the pinnacle of the Empal SuRecon Centre, her mind stuck on those last few moments on Horaarn, playing them over and over in her mind.

Luke being escorted up the ramp, hands bound behind his back, legs hampered by shackles. The jerk of his head as he saw her, the flash of recognition, the relief that had filtered into his eyes. Then cold determination…

_“Do it!”_

Given no time to prepare, given no time to wash, to eat or even to come to terms with being out of that dark cell, Vader had taken her to the ante chamber of the Emperor’s temporary office. Clamping her jaw, gritting her teeth, and with growing consternation she had struggled to stay on her feet, the weakness of her body threatening to betray her and more than once she had glanced to the empty reception chairs and eyed their comfort enviously as they waited to be summoned.

_Skywalker was alive!_

And she had no idea what that really meant for her and her future.

The doors of the Emperor’s office had parted and, again with Vader clasping her upper arm, his fingers digging hard into muscle, she had been dragged forward into her Master’s presence.

_The desk was empty, the wide window behind was dimmed to a low tint to keep out the bright noon sun and cast the office into grey shadow._

_“Ah, my child,” Palpatine’s smooth voice came from behind her._

_Vader released her and Thecla slid to her knees, in reverence and with exhaustion. She dipped her head, eyes staring at the weave of the expensive ruby-red carpet in the Emperor’s private office. There was the sound of pouring liquid, the chink of glass, from behind as Vader also took a knee in the Palpatine’s presence._

_“Thank you, Lord Vader,” Palpatine’s tone carried a command; Vader was dismissed._

_The large man rose and stepped back from Thecla. “Master,” he intoned as he bowed his head in reluctant obedience._

_Palpatine remained silent as the door to his office swept shut. His robes rustling as he moved, his footsteps heavy on the floor as he approached her._

_Thecla trembled with fatigue, with fright, fighting the impulse to throw herself at his feet and beg for forgiveness for failing him. She swallowed the instinctive urge and gritted her teeth; determined to be His agent to the very end._

_He had trained her. He had invested his time in her, taught her and guided her. She would not fail him again._

_“I should hope not,” his voice sounded humoured, as though he was delighted by her thoughts, her internal struggle and yet there was also a barb; sharp and biting. He passed her, leaving her kneeling, and settled behind the large desk leaving another long gap of silence before speaking once more. “You disappoint me…”_

_A wave of guilt, of searing shame, swept through her, but she had held her tongue; knowing it was best not to speak until invited._

_Minutes ticked, silence dragged and the Emperor took a sip from whatever liquid he had poured into his glass. Thecla’s throat clogged with thirst and she had to fight the urge to lick her cracked, parched, lips._

_“…. your feelings for Skywalker are not unknown to me, even now I can feel them,” Palpatine continued as though the preceding silence had not existed. He sounded disgusted, revolted by the notion that his agent may care for another. “You did not attempt to kill him to fulfil my commands. You shot him to spare him from Vader… to spare him his fate. To keep him from me!”_

_Thecla wanted to argue, could feel her contentions and rationale of her actions bubbling just under the surface; she had tried to fulfil her duty, had tried to keep Vader and Skywalker apart as ordered. Had attempted to execute Luke as commanded to satisfy her master’s wishes that should Vader’s capture of Skywalker be unavoidable that the Rebel die. However, she knew that to voice them would mean her death. To voice them would be a betrayal of all of Palpatine’s trust in her; that he would sense her thoughts and feelings was proof enough of her disloyalty._

_The simple truth was that she had cared, still cared, for Luke Skywalker._

_“Hmmm,” Palpatine pondered, taking another sip of his drink while she knelt on the floor, dehydrated and exhausted. The glass was set down on the desk and still Thecla kept her eyes to the floor. “You have a chance to redeem yourself.”_

_Knowing she was expected to speak now, knowing her cue, knowing her master; she intoned softly, barely able to make her voice more than a scraped whisper. “I am the Emperor’s willing servant.”_

_“Perhaps you were once,” The Emperor’s tone was cold, biting. “Perhaps you will be again, but be under no illusion; you have much to atone for and I will be watching.”_

_Thecla stared at the carpet, stared at the threads of the weave and the rich, deep and dark, colour still not daring to raise her eyes to her master, not daring to speak. The floor covering seemed new; it had no pile, no softness. It was hard and woven tight, warp and weft rigidly interlocking and yet… there… and Thecla had to crush her smile, hide her amusement… just there… there was a single thread pulling up, escaping the dense knit._

_“…guards outside will escort you to an apartment within this facility,” Palpatine was speaking again telling her of next mission. Thecla focused on his words knowing her life depended on carrying out his instructions. “You will clean yourself up, take nourishment and report back to me in the upper medical wing.”_

_Thecla cleared her throat; already knowing that she was to assist Luke. Vader’s words had been quite clear…_

“The patient is waking. The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face.”

_…implicit that it was Luke who she was to go to. She was the familiar face._

_Palpatine lifted his glass again, making her wait for excruciating seconds while her body ached in the kneeling position. He sipped at the liquid and placed the glass back down on his desk. “You believe that your target did not die and that you are to assist in his awakening. That is what Lord Vader has inferred, yes?”_

_Thecla swallowed, dryly. “Yes, Master.”_

_The Emperor chuckled, his amusement genuine. He rose from his chair, walked around his desk. “Then Lord Vader is somewhat misguided. Your task is two-fold. It is true that the boy’s body lives again. He is emerging from a coma and the medics believe that familiarity will ground him. You are to sit with him, speak with him, read to him if you so wish. You will be his anchor in the waking world.” Standing above her, he paused to consider his next words. “But he is no longer Luke Skywalker and there has to be no mention of his previous incarnation. I am shaping him. I am guiding him; creating what he will become…” his voice turned cold, malignant. “… and yet, remnants of Skywalker still exist in his mind. You, child, are also tasked in reviving those remnants, with bringing those snatches of Luke Skywalker to the surface.”_

Why?

_The question was in Thecla’s mind before she could quash it._

_And the amusement was back, his voice carrying incredulity that she had not understood his intent. “So that I can remove them, cut them from him and leave his mind empty and mine to fill.”_

And so she had obeyed him and followed the guards to her assigned rooms. She had stripped from the filthy prison clothes and showered; the water hitting her body hot and hard, the soap vigorously scrubbed into her skin as she removed the grime and stench of the detention centre. She had sat for a long time just brushing her hair and reminding herself to make arrangements to have it cut, while refusing to even glance in the mirror once; too afraid of what she would see, too afraid to face herself and what she had done and was about to do at Palpatine’s bidding. Then she had dressed in a simple jump suit, tied up her hair and ate a simple meal; not wanting to upset a stomach more used to meagre prison rations.

Palpatine had sent an escort to bring her to Luke’s room… it seemed his lack of trust extended to even this most simple of duties… and now here she stood in the threshold of the most private and most guarded of hospital rooms on Imperial Centre.

“Go to him,” Palpatine ordered, “sit with him.”

Still not raising her eyes to the figure on the bed, Thecla took a hesitant step forward, but Palpatine caught her arm, halting her and she had to fight her instinct to jerk away from his oily grasp, from his fetid breath.

He must have seen this, sensed this, for his grasp tightened. “Remember all I have said. Skywalker is dead.”

“Yes, master,” she whispered in return to the implicit threat in his words and tone.

He released her and again she stepped forward to the man lying on the bed. Luke…

…for he looked like Luke and, no matter what her master said, she could not think of him as no-one or nothing…

…lay inclined on the air form mattress; a two pronged oxygen cannula resting at his nostrils, a feeding tube snaked across his abdomen to disappear into an incision in his stomach and a peripheral intravenous cannula was fixed into his arm maintaining a steady flow of fluids and medication through lines that ran down from rehydrate packs hanging above and to the side of his bed.

He was slightly turned away from her, his blue eyes open and staring intently at the blank wall of his room. He didn’t respond to her approach, didn’t acknowledge her pulling a chair closer to the bed, didn’t react as she sat and reached forward and took his hand, entwining her fingers with his.

She swallowed, aware of Palpatine at her back, and licked her lips before hesitantly speaking. “My Lord,” she addressed Luke, knowing, without needing to be told, his place in the Empire’s hierarchy. She placed a hand against the warmth of his cheek and gently turned his head to her. She smiled as his eyes found her’s, as confusion pulled at his brow and she tried not to despair at his lack of recognition.

“My Lord,” she greeted again, with a smile, “it is good to see you awake.”

He stared at her face, seconds passing slowly, before his eye lids flickered and sluggishly closed and he lapsed back into deep sleep.

ooOOo

_There is a smell in the darkness. It is the smell of rot, of decaying wet foliage. There is a sound. The noise of rain fall. It rushes, it runs and drips. The air feels hot and humid, and the sweat is clinging, cloying._

_The dirt underfoot is soft, it sucks at footsteps, pulls against the leather of boots._

_There is light in the darkness, an opening that broadens to reveal a clearing among the tall trees that snarl out from the ground and whose roots are entwined and interlinked. Tall, so tall that they almost block the heavy grey clouds that are gathered above._

_There is a figure, small and huddled in the centre of the cleaning and voice whispers above the surging rain._

_“Dagobah.”_

Eyes snap open, pupils constricting in the light of the chamber.

_“Dagobah…”_

ooOOoo

Leia drew her knees up onto the co-pilot’s chair and stared out at the twisting lights of hyperspace beyond the cockpit window. The engines of the Millennium Falcon thrummed steadily sending minute vibrations through the ship and causing small swells in the cup of hot chocolate that she held tightly in her hands. Lights flickered about her, blinked unseen as systems worked. A small arc sparked behind her from a panel and there was a shout from beyond the closed door, followed by the roar of a frustrated Wookiee.

The Princess lifted the cup to her mouth, feeling the heat, but not registering it, as it touched her lips. She breathed in, taking in the aroma of the cocoa and the spice of the tang bark, briefly, almost unconsciously, wondering when and where Han had been able to replace his supplies of the drink. She knew why he kept the supply, she knew why she continued to drink it. It was Luke’s favourite.

_Luke…_

She closed her eyes, the pain of him stealing her breath. She had believed him dead, had believed him at peace. Her grief had been pure, her grief had stopped her for a while, stopped her in the stillness of horror and regret while the world moved on around her. She had slowly begun to come to terms with her friend’s death, had slowly been pulled back into the world and hastened her steps to catch up with the events around her.

Han had helped. Han had been patient. Han had been demanding. Han had been as heartbroken as she and it was only when she began to emerge from her own fugue of grief that she had realised that.

Yes, that was why Han bought the hot chocolate. That was why she continued to drink it.

_Luke…_

Because he was alive! Because there was hope, because someday he may sit in this ship and drink it beside her once more.

_Darth Vader’s son…_

They had said nothing to the Alliance. They had not told anyone what they knew about Luke. Had not divulged that they suspected…

_… knew…_

_…_ that he was alive!

They said nothing of him being the son of the man they all feared and hated. The man who had been relentlessly hunting them until a few months ago when he had abruptly pulled off from pursuing the Falcon and returned to the centre of Imperial power.

They had remained silent when the Alliance Command had speculated about the reasons behind the Emperor’s long stay in the medical centre, ruling the Galaxy from the pinnacle of the EmpPal SuRecon tower. They said nothing when the reports began to trickle in that the Lord Vader had only fleetingly visited before picking up his search for the Rebellion with renewed vigour and brutality, and hope began to filter through the fleet and the personnel that perhaps… just perhaps… Palpatine’s days were coming to an end.

Only they knew; Han, Leia and Chewbacca knew, that it was Luke who had drawn the Empire’s ruler and his enforcer to the hospital tower and at once they were both heartened, that perhaps Luke was recovering from his devastating injury, and terrified for what their young friend was suffering at the hands of the Empire…

.. but why had Vader left Imperial Centre?

Why had he abandoned his son?

Had Luke perished after all?

No… no… It wasn’t that. It couldn’t be that.

There was something else happening here.

Leia drew in another breath, listening to the muffled sounds from beyond the cockpit; the muted grumbles of Chewbacca, the retorts from Han, Artoo’s bleeping and Threepio’s bleating and Leia smiled briefly against her cup at the comfort of the familiar sounds.

To the Alliance Luke Skywalker was dead. To the galaxy he was already a fading name; a man who had briefly been a notorious criminal, a martyr to the Rebellion but now, long months dead, he was no longer newsworthy. In the weeks and months following Horaarn the Galaxy’s media had moved on as it always does.

The occupants of this ship had not. They could not forget or abandon Luke. They had discussed telling Mothma of Luke’s heritage, of their suspicions…

_… their belief…. their tuth…_

… they had discussed gathering together a small team, had debated the pros and cons of going to the Imperial Centre and breaking Luke out. They had argued, fought, yelled and screamed at each other, each of them switching roles and switching sides of the debate, and each of them knew as well as the other that a rescue attempt was not yet possible.

_That it was impossible…_

After the Cusrean and Horaarn debacles, after Hoth, the Alliance agents on Imperial Centre had fallen silent, all of them feared captured and killed. They suspected Luke was being held in the pinnacle of Palpatine’s hospital tower but they did not know precisely where he was, or what physical condition he was in. They had no schematics that they could use to make an informed decision about where he could be. They had no security codes to get passed the planetary patrols to even reach the surface. Imperial centre was locked down tighter than the Banking Clan’s vaults since Palpatine had moved his court. There was no team…

_… “… you, me, Chewie. We could ask Wedge, Jansen… and that new guy… whassis name... the blond kid, looks like Luke….” Han clicked his fingers, mentally grasping for the young pilot’s name and failing. He frowned at Leia’s shrug and equally blank look. “… anyway… the Rogues. They’d be up for it…”_

… and to form one would mean telling the Alliance what they knew of Luke, of what they knew _about_ Luke, because without that knowledge Leia knew Command would never sanction such a rescue for just one man; not even for Luke Skywalker.

But for the son of Darth Vader?

_“Yeah, great idea, your worship, let’s make the kid a target again! It wouldn’t be a rescue team that would be sent.”_

A rescue?

No, not for the son of Darth Vader.

Months of talking, months of arguing and they were no further forward.

Opening her eyes, the Princess took her first sip of the hot drink, letting the flavour run over her tongue, the sugar and spice igniting her taste buds as she swallowed the thick liquid. She smiled; it was good. She kept the brim of the cup against her lips, held the cup tight in her hands feeling the heat in her palms and breathed in the aroma.

Leia was tired. Achingly so. The negotiations with the Teth representatives had been long and arduous spanning four days and nights with snatches of sleep and many cups of caff. She had been tempted to ask for a stim injection but, on recalling the side effects suffered by Luke and the other pilots after the Yavin evacuation and subsequent chase by the Imperial fleet, she had decided against it. Han did not need a paranoid, agitated and hyperactive woman on his ship on the way home.

The talks had been ultimately fruitful and the Falcon was now hauling much needed rations for the beleaguered Alliance fleet with more promised to follow. She could only hope that Mothma had been successful in securing additional funding and supporters from her negotiations. They needed so much more to keep the fight going; more support, more donations, more volunteers, more ships, more weapons, more… more… more….

It wasn’t that the people of the Galaxy suddenly had greater support for the Empire. If anything, the rumblings and disgruntlement had increased since Vader’s murderous rampage following Luke’s “assassination,” but fear was good at silencing people. Fear was good at keeping people kowtowed and in their place.

_“The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.”_

Another sip. She still stood by her words to Tarkin, still knew… still felt it deep within her bones, that the Empire would one day face its day of reckoning and its grip on the Galaxy would be loosened and all those systems would tumble free from its grasp. It just wouldn’t be today, or tomorrow or any day soon.

She sighed, drank a little more.

“Are you going to nurse that cup all night?”

She smiled and glanced up at the familiar voice as Luke slid into the pilot’s chair beside her. “It’s good she told him.”

_He’s not here…_

He smiled at her. That infectious grin that always seemed to lift her spirits, then it was gone and his eyes were sad, troubled and he looked more like he had after Escaal. “I miss it.”

“Hot chocolate?” She teased, lightly.

_How can he be here?_

His eyes glanced up, those intensely blue irises, looking at her through the fringe of his hair. “No…,” he shrugged and turned away. “This. I miss this. I miss you.”

“Luke, are you all right?”

_You know he’s not. You know…_

He didn’t answer, just stared in silence at the churning tunnel of hyperspace. The air felt thick and heavy in the cockpit and she had difficulty drawing a breath to find her voice.

“Luke, what’s wrong?”

He turned to her, cocked his head and considered her, chilling her with the cruel smirk that quirked his lips. He glanced up as a shadow fell over her and voice whispered, a voice she knew from her days in the senate, from the holonet, from her own brief encounters with the Emperor, “Princess Leia…”

A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped, cried out, spilled the hot chocolate drink down her front as she turned to stare up and into the yellowed eyes of the foul creature Palpatine had become; the burn of the fluid inconsequential to the horror that…

“Hey, Leia?”

Leia jerked, pulled away from the hand on her shoulder, spilling more of the cooled…

_…it’s cold! How can it be cold?..._

…chocolate milk over the edge the cup. She drew in a tight, fearful breath…

“Hey, it’s okay… it’s me.”

“Han!” She gasped, confused and disorientated, as he moved quickly to lift the cup from her hands before more of the drink could spill. It was cold now…

_…but it was hot only moments ago…_

…but if it got onto the instrument panel it could short out several systems and she was sitting right next to the life support controls.

“What is it?” he crouched before her, set the cup down on the deck plates and took her hands in his. Her fingers were chilled, and she was trembling. “What’s wrong?”

Leia looked down at the spreading chocolate stain on her jacket. She was troubled, confused, breathless at the intensity of….

“It was a dream,” she said to reassure him, to reassure herself. “Just a dream.”

_So why were her hands still shaking? Why did her stomach churn with deep unease? When had she fallen asleep?_

“A dream, huh?” He smiled, waiting for her to elaborate.

“It… seemed so real. I don’t even remember falling asleep,” she laughed at herself, trying to chase away the lingering shadows, the creeping unease. “I feel ridiculous!”

Han waited, still cradling her cold hands in his warm palms, saying nothing; just waiting for Leia to speak, waiting for her to tell him what was wrong.

She sighed, tried to shrug off her restless disquiet, but she knew Han wouldn’t budge until he was sure she was okay. “It was Luke,” she told him, watching him nodded, watching the sadness and anger flare in his eyes. When he said nothing she sighed in resignation and added, “he was here…. with Palpatine.”

Han remained silent, looking up at her as she gazed down at their intertwined fingers. Finally Leia lifted her eyes to his, she shrugged and smiled. “It was just a dream,” she dismissed, “just my mind trying to make sense of everything. It’s just…” she paused, trying to put her thoughts and feelings into order so that she could explain to Han. “… everything’s a mess.”

The corner of Han’s mouth quirked, amused at her loss of words, amused that the few words she did express seemed to sum up perfectly the events of the last year.

She was right, everything was a mess.

Everything had spiralled from their control and Han, who had once bragged that he controlled his own destiny, now felt like a passenger as events dragged and twisted him from the path he had once so carefully mapped out for himself and it had all started in a Cantina in Mos Eisley.

But there was one thing that was as it should be. There was one thing that… apart from a chocolate stain on her jacket… wasn’t a mess.

He wanted to ease her discomfort at her dream, ease her guilt…

_… and your own, Solo…_

… and pain at losing Luke. He let his lips form into a grin.

“That bad, huh?” He stood and, still holding her hands in his, he pulled her to her feet. “Come on, your worship, let’s get you outta that jacket and cleaned up.”

“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Leia teased and stood on her tip toes to plant a kiss at the side of his mouth.

“Hey, careful, your Highness I don’t want to get chocolate on me…” Han protested, letting go of her hands and stepping back, careful not to knock over her abandoned cup on the deck.

“Then we’d just need to get you out of your clothes,” Leia told him, her eyes dark and her voice low, husky, “and get you cleaned up, too.”

Han’s smiled widened knowing where this game was going as Leia pressed into him, wrapped her arms around him and he bent down to capture her lips with his own.

Leia felt her body enfolded in his embrace,…

…this was where she belonged. This is where she felt safe and secure….

…felt the heat of desire rise, banishing her earlier unease… at least for little while, at least for now, at least until she stood alone in Han’s cabin over the mussed up bunk holding her jacket in her hands while staring at the dried and dark chocolate stain spread across the white fabric with a name escaping her lips in a whisper.

“Luke…”

ooOOoo

It was quiet. Too quiet. It was as though the Rebellion had disappeared, as though they had given up and had slunk back to whatever dank hole they had originated from. They were silent when Rhyllis Prime fell to the Empire to be stripped of resources and assets. They were silent when troopers massacred protesters on Firro and continued through the capitol killing randomly, wiping out a third of the city's population. They were silent when the Emperor announced further rises in taxation and removed all rights of privacy from the holonet giving him the right of access to all information that was held by the state owned media and on everyone who used it.

There was no right to a private life - all lives in the Empire belonged to the Emperor.

Rhovan sighed, placed down the datapad he had been reading. He rubbed at his temples, loosened his collar, yawned and leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on his desk.

It was quiet in the Emperor's private prison, too. All the prisoners now languishing behind closed doors with no contact with the guards. No-one, not even Rieekan, had been questioned for weeks. There was no reason to ask any questions. In the wake of the events of Cusrean and Horaarn public support for the Rebellion had waned and Vader's relentless pursuit of them had devastated their numbers and sent them and their supporters scurrying into hiding. Any information Rieekan could supply would now be months old and useless.

Everyone down here, including the guards and the officers seemed to have been forgotten and abandoned. Rhovan’s duties now consisted of organising duty rotas, food supplies for the prisoners, ensuring the security systems remained operational and checking the remaining prisoners were still alive for no-one had permission to die without the expressed consent of the Emperor.

And He had been silent since moving his court and his person to the Emperor Palpatine’s Surgical Reconstruction Unit several months ago. The Palace, indeed the Empire, continued with business as usual but Rhovan knew that people were unsettled by the Emperor’s prolonged absence from the palace, privately asking and wondering and worrying about the despot’s health. Rhovan had sensed fear, but he had also sensed hope among those living and working in the vast Imperial stronghold.

Hope that after two decades of rule that Palpatine was on his death bed despite his sporadic appearances on the holonet.

Few knew the real reason for the Emperor’s absence. Few suspected what had really drawn Palpatine away from the palace and the public eye.

Rhovan suspected that it was Luke Skywalker.

No, that wasn’t right. Rhovan _knew_ it was Luke Skywalker.

He rubbed his hands over his face, felt stubble on his chin and briefly wondered how long it had been since he had last been in his apartment to wash, shave and change his clothes. The hours down here seemed to bleed from one to the other, slowly dripping monotonously until nothing differentiated them. They were the same, always the same.

Luke Skywalker.

He was sure only four people knew of the boy’s survival. The Emperor of course, Lord Vader, the Emperor’s agent and himself.

 _“The patient is waking,”_ Vader had told him and the woman. _“The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face.”_

Again he mulled over the Dark Lord’s words from weeks ago. “Waking….” “… woke to a familiar face.”

Luke, and there was no doubt in Rhovan’s mind that it was Luke Skywalker Vader had been referring too, had been shot weeks before the Dark Lord’s visit to the Detention Centre and even more weeks had passed since then. Months of dragging silence.

_“Waking…”_

This was not the first time that Rhovan’s thoughts had wandered to Skywalker, to Vader’s son. It was also not the first time that he had mused over the Dark Lord’s words and only one conclusion had ever presented itself to him. Luke had been shot in the chest, that much he knew from the holonet footage, and the injury would have impacted on his heart, his lungs, or both. Luke would have been starved of oxygen. He must have suffered anoxia or severe hypoxia. The resulting brain injury would have been traumatic, so the question was; why all the effort and time spent with him? Why not just allow him to die? What good would a brain-injured boy be to the Empire?

Jedi… The boy was Jedi…. but…

_“Luke isn’t a Jedi…”_

Ehlen Ander’s words, uttered following Skywalker’s debriefing in the wake of the Cusrean disaster, echoed in his mind.

_“…_ _Luke isn’t even a padawan. He is a boy with a raw power and a famous name and no-one left to teach him what he needs.”_

It wasn’t the first time Rhovan had recalled the Rebel Major’s words. It wasn’t the first time that he recalled warning both Anders and Rieekan of the dangers Luke posed to the Alliance.

Skywalker had been powerful, untrained and barely restrained by the Alliance when physically well, but injured, damaged….

Vader’s motives were clear and very simple; Luke was his son. However, Palpatine’s were not. What could the Emperor want with a wounded boy, a disabled enemy?

Questions left unanswered as always, Rhovan yawned again, stretching in his desk chair, hands high above his head, jaw cracking, eyes tearing at the force of it, just as the door to his office swept open to reveal the red robes of the Emperor's personal guards.

Caught mid-stretch Rhovan froze, paused, as he watched the soldiers file into his office. Slowly, deliberately taking his time, he lowered his hands and lifted his boots from his desk. He placed his feet on the floor and sat straight in his chair not caring that his uniform was unfastened and dishevelled.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked politely, wondering what poor soul Palpatine had remembered was still down here and what he had in store for the prisoner.

Rieekan?

There was a twist of anxiety for the General, for his friend.

_A friend no longer after what he had done…_

His concern, his worry for Rieekan was immediately forgotten when he was told, with a hint and bite of humour in the soldier’s voice, “You are to accompany us, Major. His Excellency requires your presence in the throne room.”

Rhovan chilled. His entire body suddenly freezing and seizing and one word sprung immediately to his mind.

_Shit!_

Palpatine had returned and he had missed it! Months spent down in this hole had dulled his senses, had blunted his edge, his skills! He had been a fool, had taken his finger off the pulse of the Palace and now Palpatine had made his move, had pressed Rhovan into a misstep and was moving into take advantage of the forced error.

Rhovan felt like a Dejarik piece; a Houjix left too long out of the game play that had become fed up and easily taken by a skilled player.

Was Palpatine that manipulative? Was The Emperor of the known Galaxy that concerned with a single individual, with one person, that he would waste his time manoeuvring him into position until he had him just where he wanted; bored and unaware and ready for reaping?

The Major dragged himself to his feet, fastened his jacket and pulled it sharply down, trying to drag out the wrinkles in the cloth. He swept his hair back and donned his cap, briefly wondering if Palpatine would notice that he hadn’t shaved, then told himself it wouldn’t matter what his corpse looked like as it was unceremoniously dragged away.

“I am the Emperor’s willing servant,” he told the soldiers with a brief bow of his head.

They fell in around him, two in front, two behind, as they escorted him through the massive palace. Rhovan kept his head up and his walk precise, just has he had been taught in the Academy as though he were on parade or marching and drilling and not walking to his death. He ignored the curious glances that were thrown toward the small procession as it worked its way swiftly through the mundane lower levels of the monolith and up into the more ornate corridors and hallways of the main body of the Palace.

Rhovan had never been in this part of the Palace, the more public areas, the working hub of Palpatine’s Empire, but he kept his eyes front dampening down his curiosity and desire to explore, after all he was not a tourist, he was not here to admire the opulence or the fast efficiency of the place. He was here to answer for his actions for the last few years, he was here to explain his treason to his Emperor.

The Red Guards surrounding him took a sharp turn and walked him out of the grandeur of a pillared and marbled hallway and through a double doorway into a plain corridor that could be found anywhere in the Empire; in the Academies around the Galaxy, on a Star Destroyer, from the bases and garrisons of the core worlds to the furthest outpost in the outer rim.

Grey durasteel walls, polished floor. It was stark contrast to the opulence he had just left and he felt he was entering yet another prison, another torture chamber…

_…Perhaps you are…_

… because everyone had heard the rumours and stories of Palpatine taking delight in torturing and killing those who had failed him right in front of his courtiers.

For the first time in the long walk Rhovan swallowed, finally allowing himself the luxury of reacting to the tight anxiety and nausea that balled in the pit of his stomach.

A set of blast doors separated, the sections pulling up diagonally into the corners and they stepped through into yet another corridor. This one was lined by single doorways and it looked very much like the corridors in his cell block that was in the opposite wing and hundreds of floors below. This hallway was set apart only by its wider size and by the various twisted carvings and statues that lined the walls like sentinels; silent watchmen over their Emperor’s inner sanctum.

Rhovan’s common sense told him that behind those doors lay offices and work stations, but the effect of the low lighting, the strange contorted sculptures and effigies and the oppressive silence and emptiness of the corridor that should be filled with the hustle and bustle of activity set his instincts screaming to turn and run.

Fear parched his mouth and chilled his body.

Like the maw of some strange behemoth the doors at the end of the corridor drew open. Approaching the quietly, widening gap the Major could see that the chamber beyond was massive and empty. The Red guards around him drew to a halt and Rhovan followed suit, coming to a dead stop.

The lead soldier turned that red helmet, that blank visor, to him and again there was a hint of humour to his voice when he spoke.

“His Excellency wishes to confer with you alone, Major,” he gestured toward the waiting, open doorway.

“Thank you…,” Rhovan was relieved to find his voice did not break as he spoke, but he could find no rank on the guard’s scarlet robes. “… soldier,” he finished.

And a part of him had to wonder if it was this man who would drag his still warm corpse from the throne room.

Taking a breath, keeping his head high, Erwin Rhovan stepped through the door to meet his Emperor and began his lone walk down the length of the throne room, his boot steps clipping on the smooth polished floor, towards the steps to the raised stage that held the Emperor’s seat of power.

Rhovan kept his eyes front as he walked but the bleakness of the room surprised him. Vast high walls of black durasteel, lighted by the slits that graced the walls of all Imperial designed buildings be they palaces or prisons. Uniformed and cold, precise and methodical like the Empire itself.

He drew to a stop at the first step to the dais and glanced up at the throne half expecting to find Palpatine now sitting there, but the large chair remained empty. His eyes flickered to the space under the throne, under the platform, but the light barely filtered beneath and heavy, dark shadows cloaked the area. He swallowed, waiting, wondering what was happening, not liking not knowing, not liking this feeling of helplessness, not liking the feeling of being watched and weighed.

Minutes slowly ticked away…

“You are a difficult man to read, Major Rhovan...”

The dry whisper coming from so close behind had the hair on the back of his neck prickling. He turned on his heel and fell to one knee knowing who had spoken without seeing him.

“But I suspect that is why you were chosen for the programme,” the Emperor finished.

Heart hammering, Rhovan forced out, "Excellency, I am honoured to..."

"Save the platitudes, Major," Palpatine spat out, "We both know you are not here for a social visit.”

Rhovan stiffened, body chilled to the bone. He kept his eyes to the floor where all he could see from his peripheral vision was the skirts of the Emperor’s robes and the tip of his walking stick.

“You consorted with Our enemies. You bore arms against Us. You lead and organised resistance and rebellion. Your actions on Hasthaal, Cusrean and Escaal are known to me as are the number of dead patriots, killed because of your actions, because of the information you fed to the Rebel Alliance,” Palpatine’s voice was still low, hissing like a viper about to strike.

Rhovan said nothing in his defence. He merely waited; waited for the list of his crimes against the Empire to end and for his fate to be decided.

“We have lost weapons, supplies, vehicles and ships that are destroyed or now aimed against us. We have lost intelligence information and hyperspace algorithms because of you, Major.”

The Emperor moved around him, footsteps dull, walking stick tapping, robes rustling. “You deserve to die, Major, for inciting such insurgency against me!”

Palpatine completed his circle, was now standing directly before him once more. Rhovan waited for him to speak, waited for The Emperor to kill him.

“Aurek-Aurek-three-three-four-zero-Dorn,” Palpatine announced.

Rhovan started, surprised and relieved, to hear his authorisation code spoken. He kept his hope dulled, he kept his eyes to the floor and suppressed the tiny smile that threatened to curl his lips.

“I had thought the programme abandoned, the operatives terminated and yet here you are with an order code that catches even my attention…”

The Emperor broke off, turned away from him, walked to the stairs and climbed to his seat of power while Rhovan remained kneeling. There was quiet as the despot settled and regarded him.

“In all your postings you have maintained your status as a loyal Imperial Officer, while finding and encouraging dissent and twice you have even been welcomed into the arms of the Rebellion and given rank and status in the heart of their Alliance…”

Rhovan kept his eyes cast down as though ashamed of his insurgency, still unsure of the Emperor’s intentions.

“… You have followed your orders to the letter, Major and in over a decade you have never once asked to be relieved. You have taken to your mission with drive and ambition, climbing through the ranks while rooting out dissent and encouraging it, fuelling it… before utterly destroying it.”

Rhovan closed his eyes; sights and scenes ripping through his mind. The Cusrean student demonstrations he had organised and fired up to clash with Imperial troops that had led directly to the massacre of thousands and the annex of the planet into the Empire at the Cusrean government’s “request” due to the resulting unrest. The creation and the careful build-up of the resistance network on Hasthaal and the sudden sweep and arrests of hundreds of operatives; his own brother being the one who had been set up to be caught and arrested while relaying tracked weapons that lead the Empire to the resistance’s door.

_“Sam… This doesn’t have to be you!” Rhovan tried to keep the desperation from his voice._

_His young brother shook his head. “Yes, it does!” I know the flight paths, I know where the scanner’s dark spots are. I know the scheduled traffic. I’m the only one who can do this!”_

_“No!” Rhovan roared, losing his composure. He slammed his glass down, the amber liquid sloshing over the sides to wet the table. He gestured to his second-in-command, “This is Dihind’s job, it was always his call, his mission.”_

_“He’s a civilian! Working civilian traffic. That’s different traffic paths, different priorities,” Sam, sighed, slumped in his seat and reached for his own glass. “You’re trying to protect me, Erwin. I know what I’m doing, I know what would happen if I get caught. Where I’d end up… you are my brother after all.”_

_Rhovan said nothing, sadly watching his teenage brother take a sip of the bitter amber liquid and seeing the tremble in his brother’s hand. Sam was scared, terrified and was going ahead with it anyway._

It had led to his brother’s arrest. It had led Sam into the detention centre and into the cells. It had led to Rhovan killing his brother to protect him, to save him from worse.

It wasn’t supposed to have been Sam.

“…Your plan to discredit the Rebellion was inspired, Major,” Palpatine was still talking and Rhovan forced his mind into the here and now. To lose focus while in audience of the Emperor was ill advised. He pushed Sam away, pushed away his grief and regrets and concentrated on Palpatine’s words. “… as was your suggestion of staging it at Cusrean and using the abandoned space station.”

Rhovan couldn’t help the brief stab of surprise at the praise he heard in the Emperor’s voice.

“I only regret that I was not there to witness the Rebel’s outrage when they learned of the Felucian Necrosis. You did well, Major, to bait and secure their attack on the station.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Rhovan forced out, his heart still hammering, disbelief at this turn of events numbing his limbs. He may yet survive this encounter.

“And Skywalker’s involvement in the attack, that was your doing also?”

Rhovan swallowed, before answering. “No, Sire. That was Leia Organa’s suggestion.”

“Really?” There was a chuckle of amusement, then, “you may rise, Major.”

Rhovan pushed himself to his feet and stood at ease waiting as Palpatine regarded him from behind his hood. Palpatine leaned forward, placed his hands on the arms of the throne.

“Yes, you have served me well, Major. Except for Escaal.”

Rhovan chilled, froze where he stood. He had been played, he had been praised and allowed to relax and now Palpatine had moved in for the kill.

“Explain,” The Sith Lord demanded.

The words wouldn’t come. His mind numbed and time stretched. He swallowed, and took a breath suddenly realising that what he said next would make the difference between his life or his death.

“My apologies, Excellency,” he bowed his head briefly, mind scrabbling to find the words he needed. “I had taken leadership of the resistance, but had yet to consolidate it. In order to do this I suggested to the Network section commanders that we make contact with the Alliance and plan a co-ordinated attack against the munitions plant. I had thought that the losses we would take would be minimal and necessary sacrifices for my mission. The Alliance agreed, but demanded our support should any of their pilots be shot down. I gave it.

“Consequently, Skywalker was shot down and we took him in and…”

“Chaos, Major,” Palpatine interjected. “Hundreds dead, including the General’s son.”

“Yes, Excellency,” Rhovan acknowledged, fighting the urge to nervously lick his lips, “a regrettable turn of events and…”

“… and you assisted in Skywalker’s escape while knowing he was a highly valued individual.”

“Yes, Excellency,” Rhovan agreed again, for he could not dispute the facts. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was sure that even Palpatine could hear the rapid beats. “Skywalker got me back into the Alliance ranks and gave me access to their Command; to Mothma herself.”

“Hmmm,” Palpatine acknowledged the explanation but ignored the mention of Mothma, as though she was insignificant. The Emperor sat back, regarding the officer below him. “Over the years Major you have caused significant damage to the Empire, twice you have become a member of the Rebellion itself, actively striking out against me under the auspices of your mission parameters. Parameters that you appear to have extended to suit your needs,” he leaned forward again, gazing down at his officer, a deadly warning in his voice. “How am I to know there is not true rebellion in your heart.”

Rhovan couldn’t help himself, he swallowed, knowing Palpatine would have noticed the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple. “You don’t, Excellency,” he said honestly, wondering where he had got the strength to speak from.

Palpatine silently regarded the man and Rhovan had to wonder what was going through the man’s mind, wished for the first time in his life that he had the same power as the Jedi.

Suddenly the Emperor laughed, a chuckle, a cackle of glee. “I say again that you are a difficult man to read, Major, but I appreciate your candour. Not many men can stand in my presence as you have and speak with such frankness. You are either foolhardy or courageous, or perhaps you just don’t care?”

It was a rhetorical question and Rhovan remained silent. Waiting for the Emperor to speak again, while stilling the small voice of panic in his mind.

“Hmmm…” Palpatine pursed his lips, quirked them in a smirk. “I should have you executed for treason and yet I find that I have a use for your unique set of skills.”

Again Rhovan said nothing, knowing that anything he said would come across as sycophantic and now was not the time to curry favour. Now was the time to remain silent and save his life.

“Lord Vader’s action over the course of the last few months has solidified the Empire’s rule and control over the Galaxy. He has demonstrated our resolve and determination to quash all insurgency. Fear is a great barrier to dissent, do you not agree?”

Rhoven nodded, “Yes, Excellency.”

“And yet it still remains,” The Emperor noted. “That quiet voice in the background whispering against us, whispering against me... even here on Imperial Centre, even here in the Palace.”

And Rhovan understood his task. He was being asked to seek out those questioning voices and destroy them.

“Ha!” Palpatine laughed, delighted. “Perhaps not so hard to read after all!” He leaned forward again, pale, clawed hands clutching at his throne. “No… not destroy. I want you to seek them out Major, I want them found. I want you to organise the resistance as you did on Hasthaal and Escaal. I want you to add to the voices, I want you to encourage and to fan the flames of Rebellion. Allow them whatever acts of aggression they wish to perpetrate, allow the terror to spread within the core worlds.”

Rhovan’s mind reeled, his body chilled to the core at what he was being asked to do. He was being asked to fan decent against the Throne by the man who occupied it! Too many questions buzzed and circled in his mind…

Why? Why would Palpatine want Rebellion against himself? What could he possibly achieve by creating chaos?

….but he was the dutiful officer, he could not disobey his Emperor. “And the Alliance, sire?”

Palpatine, shrugged. “They are insignificant, hiding in rim worlds and afraid to strike.”

Rhovan’s mind raced at the opportunities this mission presented; he could use this. He could do this. “They could prove useful, Excellency. There are some among them who would be influential in garnering support.”

“This is your mission, Rhovan. Use whomever you chose,” his tone was dismissive and Rhovan knew his time was coming to an end.

Rhovan clenched his jaw, muscles bunching in his face. “I will need equipment, codes, access to sensitive Imperial data and… autonomy.”

Palpatine’s face hardened, yellowed eyes glared and there was a warning in his voice. “You have it, autonomy from all… but not from me!” Again he sat forward, emphasising and repeating the statement, “not from me… You will report your progress to me, you will alert me to any action the resistance is likely to make. Everything you do, Colonel, I will know.”

Rhovan bowed, hiding his smile at his promotion. “As you command, Excellency.”

ooOOoo

 

to be continued....

 


	27. For Darkness Restores Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still recovering from the wounds of an assassination attempt the Lord Commander has returned home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previous Disclaimers still apply...

** Dark Times: Chapter 7  **

** For Darkness Restores **

** Part Three **

Sometimes he thought he could remember before.

Before…

A strange word. One word that said so little, but so much at the same time.

Before…

It meant an earlier point in time. It meant previously. It meant formerly. But, to him, it meant the nothing before he opened his eyes. It meant all the seconds, the minutes, the hours, days, weeks and years before…

…before he started to retain some memory, before he could even recall opening his eyes, before he could remember little snatches of images of seeing her sitting by his bedside, before he could recall that his master had never been far from him and had been with him all along guiding and cajoling him to full wakefulness

_“I am your master!”_

He owed the Emperor his life. He owed the Emperor everything because _He_ had raised him from that nothingness, dragged him from the obscure unknown and had given him purpose and focus that the hidden before had taken from him.

Before…

Sometimes he wasn’t even sure there had been a before, sometimes he believed that waking in that bed was his first memory, but then something would spark an image, sound, or smell…

_…sunlight and sand…_

_…flying… soaring… pulling the flight controls… pushing down on the pedals and banking way…_

_…the scent of hot metal and oil…_

… just little snippets, just little insights into his life before.

His hands gripped the balustrade of the balcony upon which he stood, knuckles white with the effort of controlling his body, of maintaining his stance. He took in a breath to steady himself, his eyes grazing over the view of the city before him; tall gleaming spires reaching up into the atmosphere, criss-crossing lanes and lines of endless traffic, the shadows of low orbiting Star Destroyers casting sections of Imperial Centre into a night-like darkness.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be reflecting on what may have come before. His Master would not approve. His Master would…

_… cold durasteel beneath his back…. Tight binders on his wrists, across his chest. His head clenched in cold, clawed hands and…_

_…screaming…_

He shuddered at the flash of images, gripped the balustrade tighter.

“My Lord Commander?”

He stiffened in surprise at the sound of her voice, the sudden memory instantly lost and forgotten to the mists of before.

He took in a breath, allowed a pause, concentrating on the words he needed to say in response. It was still so hard, still a struggle to think of words and then say them; to shape his lips, to move his tongue and force air through his vocal cords. His speech was slow, sometimes slurred and often monotone. “Wha..,” he winced at the stutter, angry with himself for failing the word. “What… is… it?”

There was a swell of unexpected, momentary panic. A sharp anxiety twisting his belly. Suddenly, he wanted to go back. He wanted to go back to the medical centre where everything was predictable and understandable and small. He had been told that this new place was his home. That he had lived here in the before. He had been advised that his continued recovery would be best served by being somewhere familiar. He would continue with his education, his physiotherapy and training within his own Palace apartments and within close proximity to his master.

But this… this was too large, too big. A sky line filled with towering buildings that barely reached the balcony upon which he stood. The balcony itself was a mere speck on one side of this massive Imperial Palace. The rooms behind him were vast and various and they were all completely alien to him.

If this had been his home, then he remembered none of it. Not the bland, bleak, but rich furnishings, not the datapad sitting unused on the desk in the office, not the large bed that dominated the main bedroom, nor the dark clothes and scarlet uniforms that hung ready for him in the closets of his changing room.

“Is everything okay? You… you’ve been out there for some time.”

Again he had forgotten she was there, her voice dragging him from his thoughts. She must be right. He must have been standing here for a while; his left leg trembled with exertion and he reached out with the Force as his master had taught, using its strength to overcome the weakness in the limb and to still the tremor of ataxia.

_He was a heap on the ground; a bundle of loose, trembling muscles. He heaved in a breath, could feel the sweat on the small of his back trickle to the side. His sodden shirt was sticking to him._

_“Get up!”_

_He closed his eyes in defeat, in crushing disappointment and embarrassment; feeling hot and worn and frustrated._

_“I told you to get up!” His master’s voice was as demanding as ever. Each time he failed his exercise, each time his hands slipped on the parallel support bars, each time his legs fold beneath him and he fell to the floor, his master was right there telling him to rise, giving him no recourse, or rest._

_“M… Ma…mas..ter… I…”_

_“Do not lie there and stutter at me,” there was disgust and anger in Palpatine’s voice, “When you speak to me you do so fluently, without hesitation or impairment. Now… get up!”_

_There a flurry of resentment within him, of bitterness and ire at being spoken to in such a manner in front of therapists and medical staff. He could feel his face burn with the humiliation._

_“Good,” Palpatine praised, his voice had lost its sharpness, had gained the smooth tone of pleasure. “Good… now… use your anger, young one. It gives you strength and focus. Do not forget who did this to you. The Rebellion… the Alliance… They tricked you, did this to you, they robbed you of your health and strength. They have left you broken and worthless… Good…_

_…reach into the Force, bring to it you, wrap it around your useless limbs and rise.”_

_Listening to his master’s voice, hearing the truth in them, he did as commanded. He stretched out into the fire, into the reds and the blacks, into the deep vastness of the Force. He opened himself to the rage and anger he carried at what had been done to him, used his burgeoning hatred for the unknown traitors who had left him in this disabled state, and drew strength. He could feel the tendrils of the Force slither around his body and enclose his limbs within its nurturing warmth._

_Beads of sweat popped on his brow and slid down his skin as he concentrated, but gradually he could feel the fatigue leave his body, slowly the trembling of his limbs reduced. He opened his eyes, held a hand up and compelled his fingers to move._

_They obeyed and he grinned and closed his fist. Fine motor skills were still beyond him, but it was a start._

_“Now, rise, Lord Commander.”_

_He took in a breath and turned onto his belly and, with a grunt of exertion he pushed up onto his hands and knees. He paused, stretched out with his feelings to steady his exhausted frame and reached for the nearest support bar. His hand clutched it, held tight. Then, still deeply immersed in the Force, he placed one foot on the floor and used it to push upward while his hand pulled at the same time. He hauled his body upright. Planting both feet firmly on the floor, he curled his other hand around the second support bar and glanced over to his master._

_He was thrilled to see the Emperor smiling. He could feel his master’s satisfaction and pleasure within the Force._

_“You have done well, my child,” Palpatine commended. “Now, walk…”_

“Lord Commander?”

He blinked, realised he had lost his place, that he had been quiet again for some time and fought to remember what she had said.

“I’m… fine,” he responded, eyes still looking over the city, “…leave… me.”

He could hear the shuffle of unease from behind him. “My Lord,” her voice was as disapproving as always, “we are keeping the Emperor waiting.”

They were?

Of course they were. He had known that. He remembered being told by his escort from the medical centre that his master would see him once he had settled back into his rooms and that she would come for him.

Using the Force for support, to assist his muscles in moving and letting go the balcony, he turned to her. She was standing just inside his bedroom, silhouetted against the gloom of the chamber behind her. She was small, almost dainty, hair tied back and dressed in the same black, unadorned uniform that she always wore when she was with him and…

_… his boots stepped onto the shuttles ramp. Snow flurries billowed in from behind him and suddenly she was there with gun in hand and…_

He winced, a trembling hand going to his brow as a piercing pain lanced through his head.

_“Do it!”_

“My Lord,” her voice was sharp, sounding suddenly anxious. “Are you in pain? Did you remember something?”

“No,” he lied, lowering his hand and gathering the Force tighter his body to steady him and give him strength. It didn’t matter what he recalled from the fog of before, for in a short while it would be gone again. “No, no… thing.”

He could see her doubt, could see her suspicion that he was lying to her. He smiled to disarm her, saw it didn’t really work and hoped that she would not tell his master. “I…is there… something… you need, Sergeant?”

For some reason she paled, her body stiffened in response to his words. She licked her lips, her eyes narrowing at him as she reminded him. “My Lord, I am a Lieutenant Commander…”

He frowned, confused for a moment, isn’t that what he had called her?

“… and the Emperor is still waiting for you.”

His master! He smiled, pleased that he was to see his master once more. It would be good to leave these strange rooms, perhaps his master would return him to the medical centre where everything was small and known to him, where there were routines and structures he understood and that kept his life in order. “Why… didn’t you… tell me?”

He could feel her sadness in the Force, her grief and…

_… guilt?_

“That is why I am here, my Lord, to take you to the Emperor.”

He chilled, cold running through his veins. He had forgotten… and the cold was quickly followed by the searing heat of anger; at himself, at the injuries he had sustained that had left him as an empty shell. He clenched his fists, wanting to hit out, wanting to beat them hard against himself as he had in the medical centre when he couldn’t remember, when he couldn’t complete a given task, when she would crouch or sit beside him and take his fists in her hands and draw him to her and hold him until he was calm whispering to him not to take his anger out on himself but to hold it within for those who had done this too him and…

“The..cla…” he suddenly recalled, feeling pleased that he knew her name and wondering why she looked so sad at the sound of it. “Thecla.”

“Yes, My Lord?”

He licked his lips, taking the time to form his words, feeling his anger disperse with hope. “Who… am I?”

There was flicker of hurt behind her eyes, a flash of reproach. Then she pulled herself straight as though she were about to salute him. “I’m sorry, My Lord,” she said, firmly, and he had the sudden feeling that this was not the first time she had to tell him this. “His excellency wishes you to discover that for yourself.”

 

ooOOoo

 

To be continued....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter. I just wanted folks to know that I was still writing... to reintroduce Luke and to hope that I'll be forgiven for what I've done to him.


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